


The Prince and the Ice King

by Crimson1



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Curses, Ice Monster Len, M/M, Prince Barry, Virgin Barry Allen, king len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: For 200 years, the Emerald Kingdom has sent the dreaded Ice King a sacrifice each Winter Solstice. A corrupt soul is chosen, whether a criminal, a deviant who lusts sinfully, or someone touched by magic. Prince Barry has always loathed this tradition, partly because he lusts in sin himself, dreaming of love with another man instead of a future queen, but he can handle the sacrifices no longer when his best friend, Cisco, is chosen, called a witch for seeing visions.If necessary, Barry will kill the Ice King himself to rescue his friend, but while he hopes for a peaceful resolution, he is not prepared for what he finds in the Frozen Kingdom.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Captain Cold/The Flash
Comments: 225
Kudos: 727





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Later than I expected to post the first chapter, but at last, here it is. 
> 
> This is my crazy fairy tale mix of Beauty and the Beast, The Snow Queen, Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady, and probably more. No idea how long it'll be at this point, but I have a fairly solid plot in mind and look forward to continuing to work on this one. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Barry shivered with such a bone-deep chill, he thought he would never be warm again, even while hugging the thick furs of his winter cloak around him.

Ice clung to the castle walls outside, but also inside, keeping the temperature bracing and spreading from the corners of the chamber like mold. The deeper Barry went, the less tolerable the cold became, like being dropped to the bottom of a frozen lake with no hope of surfacing.

The walls were not merely dusted with ice, they were coated, covered, practically made of it, and so were the ceiling and floor. The décor looked as though it might have been beautiful once, elegant and exquisitely made, but it was all distorted now, faded tapestries and furniture, impossible to tell their original colors.

As Barry continued, he stopped and shivered for a different reason.

There were frozen remains against the wall.

No, not remains like a pile of bones, but a full, undecayed corpse, with its mouth wide open in a preserved scream.

“That was the last outsider who found his way to my door,” a low, resonant voice rumbled through the chamber, making Barry shiver harder. “He tried to break into my castle, to steal from me, before stumbling across the same threshold where you stand now.”

A powerful arm struck out and smashed the body into broken chunks—all clear, like ice, not red and bloody as Barry had feared. But still, he believed that had been a man once, shattered now.

Dead.

He dared not move to face where the brief glimpse of a bestial hand had come from, but it had to be behind him. He could feel breath like an icy wind on his neck that made his skin prickle.

“And what did you come here for? Hmm? To slay me?”

“Yes,” Barry answered, because that had indeed been his intention when he made his way to the Frozen Kingdom—to end this once and for all.

“Try it then,” the voice said, “but be warned, if your skin touches me, you will end up just like he did.”

Barry spun, reaching for his sword, but while the monster he expected did indeed tower over him—a great, jagged creature made of ice, with angular features, clawed hands and feet that crunched into the floor, fangs as clear as ice themselves, and its head lengthening upward into what appeared like an icy crown—the eyes made him pause.

Because those eyes, crystal clear and sparkling blue, held intelligence and curiosity that something otherwise out of a nightmare had no right to, entirely human.

_Blue eyes in a sea of white._

Just like Cisco's prophecy.

XXXXX

“Blue eyes in a sea of white? You mean _old_. My true love is aged and wrinkled with white hair?” Barry exclaimed. He had nothing against those lucky enough to live to see old age, but he couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another fifty or more years to finally be… happy.

“I didn’t say old,” Cisco said. “I didn’t _not_ say old. You know my visions aren’t clear!”

They sat huddled at the table in the back room of the alchemist’s shop where Cisco was apprenticed. They had met right there years ago on Barry’s first solo outing from the castle. He assumed solo at the time, though he’d learned later that General Eobard accompanied him unseen.

Barry had always found alchemy fascinating, so the shop had been his first destination that day. Not many practiced, but those who did were healers, able to create potions that could make someone stronger, faster, more resilient, think clearer, sleep better. The effects only lasted a short time, but it was as close to magic as anyone in the kingdom was ever allowed to get.

Barry found magic fascinating too, but he dared not tell his father or anyone other than Cisco, who was secretly gifted with mystic blood himself and saw visions when he touched people.

Usually it was flashes of the past or present, which could be useful when Barry forgot where he put his cloak pin or if someone had just nicked something from the shop, but the brief glimpses into the future were what Barry truly coveted.

“You said love, death, and blue eyes in a sea of white. How else am I supposed to interpret that? I’m not going to find love until I’m old and dying!”

Cisco snorted at Barry’s childish response, getting up from the table to take the whistling tea kettle off the stove. “You know I can’t always tell what the visions mean. It could be saying that you’ll find love during wartime or… um… after stepping on a bug!”

“And what about the sea of white?” Barry pressed, sitting back in his chair to watch his friend.

Cisco was slight, compact of stature, but bursting with energy that made his brown cheeks glow. His long dark hair was tied up messily to keep out of his face while he worked—which he still would be if his master hadn’t stepped out for the afternoon after Barry came for a visit.

Cisco’s status as a commoner, however, even one so young as to be an apprentice, still indentured for one more year before he’d be free to seek true employment or open his own shop as a journeyman, in no way dictated that he had to be the one to make the tea. Barry never wanted special treatment for being the prince. They alternated. Today was merely Cisco’s day.

“Sea of white could be… a shroud. I mean cloak!” Cisco corrected.

Barry groaned. He would be old and creaking before he found true love. He’d lusted before, many times, what little good that did him, but he’d never found anyone who captivated him the way tales of love described it.

Or how his father described the love he’d had for Barry’s mother, Queen Nora, before she died.

There had been whispers that magic might have saved her where alchemy had failed, while others insisted that hidden magic within the castle walls was what made her ill. Neither theory changed that she was gone.

“Don’t fret so much,” Cisco said, pouring equal amounts of water into their cups for ginger tea. “It’ll be all right.”

“How? I’m twenty. Father will have me married by twenty-two to some noble or princess I’ve never met, and I’ll only ever know true love in secret.”

“And what did you think would change if you were to find love before your twenty-second year? That you’d run away with whatever man stole your heart?”

“Maybe…”

Cisco reclaimed his seat, setting the steaming cups between them, and reached for Barry’s hand. There was only friendship there. Cisco fancied women, and Barry didn’t see his friend that way, but the love they shared was strong, because they knew each other’s deepest secrets, secrets that would strip Barry of his crown and risk Cisco being imprisoned or chosen for that year’s sacrifice.

Don’t steal, don’t cheat, don’t injure or kill. Most laws were just and sensible. But to love someone of one’s own gender was corruption—and so was magic.

Cisco hadn’t chosen to see visions. It was something that started happening when he hit adulthood, something that, if anyone else in his family experienced the same affliction, they never spoke about. He had no control over what he saw, just as Barry had no control over what he desired.

“You’ll find love someday.” Cisco smiled warmly. His words accompanied by a gentle squeeze always made Barry trust him that much more since his magic thrived on touch. “Whatever else my vision means, I’m sure of that.”

He squeezed once more, and then pulled away to add a dab of honey to his tea.

Barry added two dabs—more like three—and took a long, calming sip. It may have only been the ginger’s natural properties that comforted him, but he imagined there was some soothing potion added, and whether that was true or not, it made him think, however fleetingly, that maybe Cisco was right.

He would find love, even if all he got to know of romance were stolen moments in the night with a man he had yet to meet.

XXXXX

Cisco’s vision couldn’t mean _this_ , but it was all Barry could think about as his hand slackened on his sword.

“Is that cowardice I see? Or fear?” the Ice King boomed, moving fast and powerful like a hulking gorilla that shook the chamber with each stomp forward.

Barry stumbled, still trapped by the Ice King’s eyes—his blue human eyes—and slipped on the icy floor to land hard on his back and the edge of his sheath. He hissed but had precious little time to react before the Ice King was upon him, falling to all fours to claw closer, mere inches from touching Barry as he’d threatened.

“Perhaps both,” the Ice King growled, hovering over Barry like an avalanche about to crash down upon the side of a mountain. “Not much of a hero if you can’t even slay the beast… _little prince._ ”

“How…?” Barry quivered, teeth chattering from the proximity of the Ice King’s frigid form.

“As if your finery wasn’t enough? Only the House of Thom that rules the Emerald Kingdom has eyes as green as yours.”

He knew. He knew exactly who Barry was. “My mother…”

“So, it’s a queen on the throne now?”

“She died. My father became king until I marry.”

“Is that what this is about?”

Barry stared.

“You're looking for a boon or trophy to gift your betrothed?”

Feeling very foolish, he was grateful the cold kept his cheeks from flushing. “I have no betrothed. I came here for my friend.”

XXXXX

“You can’t be serious! It’s Cisco!”

“You know what happens if we do not give the Ice King his tithe.”

“No, I don’t. And neither do you! What does everyone even fear? An army on our doorstep? A plague?”

“Magic’s corruption could cause any number of calamities.”

“That is ludicrous! Cisco has lived here all his life!”

Barry stood, fists clenched, in King Henry’s private chambers, just off the side of the throne room. He didn’t usually berate his father so openly in the presence of their closest advisor, General Eobard of the House of Thawne, but this matter could not wait for a private audience.

Soldiers had just taken Cisco away in chains.

“You can’t do this,” Barry lamented, turning to appeal more than anger.

His father was a reasonable man, had been long before he became king and had so many more responsibilities heaped on his shoulders. He couldn’t let Barry’s worst fear be realized just because too many people had pointed their fingers and cried witch.

Henry sighed, sympathy creasing the corners of his dark eyes. He was a striking man, taller than Barry and broad-shouldered, with brown hair and a healthy beard speckled in grey. He rarely wore his crown, only during official summons and proclamations. Like Barry, he would often go into town with as few adornments as possible, just as he appeared now in a modest doublet. He hadn’t been a prince when he married Queen Nora, only a noble, but while he’d still had a high station, he’d never acted like more than a commoner.

Barry had always been told he was the same, but that he looked more like his mother, lithe and willowy, with a fair face, auburn hair that could appear almost red in the sun, and the emerald eyes of the House of Thom. Never once had the bloodline’s crown king or queen been without them.

“May I speak, Majesty?” Eobard submitted from where he stood vigil at the door.

“Of course, Eobard. What say you?” Henry gestured him forward, and Eobard clomped with the clatter of his armor and the longsword and axe on his belt.

He was near Henry’s age, though without any hint of it in his flaxen hair. Unlike most soldiers, he kept his face clean-shaven, a handsome but imposing man, who always left Barry feeling small. Not because he was overly unkind, but because he’d been the first target of Barry’s lustful fantasies when the stirrings of manhood began.

Even now, a long stare from his silver eyes made Barry’s chest feel hot.

“The Ice King is a magical being, my prince, far more powerful than the elves who abandoned the Mystic Valley, and just as un-aging, possibly immortal. He could corrupt this kingdom in so many ways, with plague or war or worse, but he stays on his hill so long as he receives his yearly offering.”

“I know the story, Eo,” Barry addressed him informally, “but every legend about the source, the reason, is different. What if none of them are true? Have you ever even sent an emissary to the Frozen Kingdom?” He returned to his father.

“Your mother’s father’s father did,” Henry said. “You know that tale as well.”

“That the emissary’s head returned a broken off chunk of ice, but it too could be a myth. An exaggeration.”

“You would risk that when you will be king in less than two years’ time? What if you’re wrong? You ask me to destroy your mother’s legacy, as an outsider of the bloodline.”

“Mother hated this tradition too!” Barry bellowed.

“Yet she upheld it.” Henry came closer, and Barry wanted to back away like a petulant child, but he allowed his father to take his hands. “I have ruled these past ten years in her stead only to hold the line for you. If you wish to bring down all the traditions of your ancestors when you take the crown, so be it, but beware the consequences when you go against the will of the people. We send an offering of corruption at the start of every Winter Solstice, and we are safe from the Frozen Kingdom for another year.”

“Cisco isn’t corrupt,” Barry choked out, the heat in his chest shifting to his eyes that made him blink away wetness.

“He admitted to the visions,” Eobard said. 

“They’re just images in his head, not—”

“It’s magic,” Henry stated firmly. “Can you really deny it is?”

Barry wanted to say, “Why does magic have to be bad?” but he knew where that conversation led, especially with Eobard watching, who rooted out those claimed to have magic and imprisoned them just like Cisco. “Choose somebody else,” Barry pleaded.

“Your friend cannot be exempt from the law. I know it hurts you, Barry, but there were too many corroborations, and he confessed. He is touched by magic. He could bring disaster down on all of us.”

“You condemn my friend for superstition!” Barry wrenched his hands away.

“Magic brings curses in its wake—”

“You only say that because you believe magic killed Mother!”

Henry went cold, but he did not raise his voice, merely looked sorrowful and empty. “What else could it have been? To find her without breath, with no other explanation…”

“Yet alchemy is never a problem.” Barry clung stubbornly to his bitterness. 

“Alchemy is science.”

He’d never understood why such seemingly simple differences should matter. Harrison, the High Alchemist who’d chosen Cisco as his apprentice, refused to vouch for him for fear that he would be accused of magic too. Even Cisco’s family remained silent.

“You’ll never listen. Tradition, old ways, old laws. You’ll uphold them even over me.” Barry had never told his father the truth of his heart’s desires. How could he?

“When you are king, the decisions will be yours.”

“By then it will be too late.” Cisco would be gone, and besides, Barry knew his father was right, that was why he’d never looked forward to his coronation.

He couldn't marry to become king, and then turn around and admit the marriage a sham, changing everything the kingdom believed in. It would cause a revolt. The people already believed that those who yearned for their same sex were corrupt, poisoned by magic somehow too, against science and nature and all that made sense to them. Barry was helpless and about to lose the one person who understood him.

“When I am king, maybe there will be so little left of me, I won’t care if they revolt…” he muttered and turned on his heel to leave before his father could call him back.

Henry and Eobard denied him an audience with Cisco until the day came for him to be taken to the Ice King’s gate. Barry had never seen someone bid a heartfelt farewell to those taken away. He tried not to attend the departure of the offerings either, tried not to watch, to will it all away, but with Cisco, he couldn’t be so blind and apathetic, not like Cisco’s own master and his family.

He went right up to the prison cart before it could start down the main road, attended to by Eobard and two of his soldiers, and reached for Cisco’s hand through the bars, ignoring the confused murmurs from the watching townsfolk.

“I tried, Cisco. I swear I tried.”

“I know, Barry. It’s okay. They were bound to find out eventually.”

“Don’t be scared. Whatever the stories say, we don’t know what happens.”

Cisco put on such a brave smile. “At least I’ll make an attractive ice sculpture. I will, right? And don’t only say it because you’re my friend.”

Barry laughed despite his tears. “Cisco…”

“I love you, Barry. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Whatever befalls me… I don’t want it to befall you too. You can change things when you’re king, but you have to do it slowly or they'll never listen.”

Barry rarely did anything slowly. He dove in headfirst and worried later.

“Be a good king. And wait for your love,” Cisco added in a whisper. “You’ll find him.”

The clop of Eobard’s horse coming closer was all the warning Barry received before the cart lurched forward, tearing their hands apart. Barry stood in the dirt and watched after his friend until he was nothing but a distant haze on the horizon.

He tried for weeks, _months_ to listen to Cisco’s wishes, wondering if his friend was even still alive. He did not want to believe the stories, but those sent to the Ice King never returned.

Barry had so few friends who were real. The nobles wanted his favor for their own gains, and most commoners, while appreciative that Barry was never boastful about his station, still often shied away and were more concerned with bowing than carrying on a conversation.

It was lonely, and lonelier still with the fresh whispers about Barry’s overly kind heart. “He must have been bewitched,” he’d hear someone say, just out of earshot, “to mourn so for one of the corrupt.”

On Cisco’s birthday, Barry got so drunk at the tavern, he couldn’t walk straight along the cobbled streets when he tried to go out back for a piss in the troughs. He made his aim, thankfully. It was a modest sewer system, but still carried the filth away from running in the streets.

Just as he was about to finish doing up his trousers, rough hands seized his shoulders and the world spun.

“It’s his highness himself, Prince Bartholomew,” someone said—a tall someone. And broad. And reeking of ale. Unless that was Barry's own stench.

“S’Barry,” he corrected, slurring slightly. “And I don wanna be prince anymore.”

“Aw, such a sorry sap,” another voice said. There were two—or was it four?—figures around Barry. He couldn’t be sure if he was simply seeing double. It was dark as pitch, and his eyes refused to focus.

“Lemme go,” Barry said, realizing the larger man still had hold of him. “I’m goin' home.”

“Thought you didn’t wanna be prince no more,” the second man said. He was tall too but stringy with long, scraggly hair. “Everyone knows what you want, pretty thing. When you get pissed, you think you stop those wandering eyes enough? Is that why you really miss that last offering? He bewitch your trousers too?”

Barry heaved backward, soberer in an instant at what was being implied, but the big man’s grip was like a vice. “I’m not… bewitched. He was my _friend_.”

“Good friend, I bet,” the larger man chortled. “You wanna be our friend, Princeling?” His breath smelled rancid up close, mixed with the ale on Barry’s own tongue, and the piss of the nearby trough, even as they backed him away from it into a tinier alley that had no exit.

“You’re talking treason and… and depravity!” Barry fought, but he couldn’t fight the spinning night. What did it matter if he was depraved too? He didn’t want these men.

“Who you gonna tell, boy?” the stringy one said, a bony hand grasping Barry’s chin, while the larger man still had his arm. Meatier fingers started pawing at his trousers. “Gonna cry to the king? You won’t even remember what we look like.”

Barry wouldn’t. He couldn’t tell what they looked like now, in the dark, with their bodies pressing tight, and those meaty fingers reaching. “Stop—”

The air was cut with a thunderous _swish_ , and the larger man gurgled and fell, his thick fingers leaving with him.

“What the—”

Another _swish_ , and the stringy man followed, two thuds on the street.

Barry squinted through the dark, and when his eyes finally revealed to him the shadow moving closer, it wasn’t some bandit, but Eobard.

Ruthlessly, he drove the end of his sword into both bodies, leaving any further gurgling silenced. Then he wiped his blade on the back of the downed men and held his hand out to Barry.

Barry took it, pulled powerfully into the embrace of the general, who kept him close to prevent him from wobbling.

“You remember now why I have repeatedly asked you not to go out of the castle at night alone?”

“They were awful,” Barry said in reply. “Most people aren’t awful.”

“You haven’t met most people, my prince. Come.” He pulled him along slowly, sheathing his sword, and choosing side streets and alleys with as few evening strollers as possible. Barry was grateful but also surprised. He’d been terrible to Eobard ever since Cisco was taken away.

Sudden fear wrapped around his heart realizing that Eobard must have been watching him all along. “Did you hear…?”

“Their blasphemy? It was obvious in their actions, which was why I cut them down. You need not worry.”

That wasn’t what Barry meant, but if Eobard had heard what they accused him of, he must not deem it worthy of comment. _Everyone knew_ , they’d said. Did they really? Did others suspect that Barry was corrupt?

But no. Barry wasn’t the corrupt one. He never would have done what those men tried to do, and Cisco had only ever used his visions to help people and keep himself safe. The real corruption was rarely what people thought.

“Do you think… it was really magic that killed my mother?” Barry asked in the dead of the quiet streets, thinking clearer by the step, with the gates of the castle courtyard coming into view.

“I don’t know, my prince,” Eobard answered. “No one really does. But it could have been.”

“If it was… if it _was_ ,” Barry said like punching the past with his words, “it wouldn’t change my mind. Cisco didn’t deserve to be taken.”

“Your father can only answer the people’s call. There were other criminals who might have been chosen, but your friend was fresher in their minds and something far more frightening, so they cried for him instead.”

Barry knew, of course, and there weren’t many criminals in the Emerald Kingdom—not who dared get caught, because if they weren’t cut down where they stood, as those deviants in the alley had been, they’d be imprisoned until the next offering. Only if they were passed by as sacrifice could they be considered for release.

But not magic-touched. Not sinners of their sex. They stayed in prison indefinitely or were exiled.

“I’ll stop it,” Barry swore. “I’ll never let them do it again.”

“You can try, my prince. And when you are king, maybe you will succeed.”

Barry didn’t remember much more about the walk to his room in the palace. He awoke in the clothes he’d worn the night before but tucked neatly under his covers. He told no one of what had happened, least of all his father, trusting that Eobard wouldn’t either, not when the matter was resolved. But as he washed and changed and looked himself in the mirror, he became more determined than ever.

The sacrifices had to stop.

XXXXX

“Your friend?” the Ice King asked, curious again.

“Cisco, House of Ramon. He was last year’s offering.”

“A rescue mission?”

“And to see for myself if you’re like the stories.”

Even with a cracked face in shades of white, blue, and grey, the Ice King’s expression betrayed his amusement. “And what are your findings so far, little prince?”

Barry trembled beneath him, but not from fear, only the cold.

He wasn't scared. A single touch might turn him to ice like the thief who'd been shattered—and the form of the Ice King, naked but sexless, pure ice from head to toe, was close enough that a touch would be easy—but he felt none of the same helplessness that those men in the alley had instilled in him.

“The truth may be worse,” Barry said plainly. “They call you Ice King, but I didn’t think it meant this. If your whole castle is like this chamber, then I fear my friend no longer lives. But then I also have to wonder: why speak with me at all? Why not kill me outright?”

The Ice King studied him with his penetrating gaze. “Perhaps you’d make a fine ransom, an added bonus to the sacrifices your kingdom sends.”

“No, I don’t think you’re the monster you appear to be. Your eyes give you away, your highness, whatever else you might be.”

The pregnant pause that filled the chamber made Barry fear he'd guessed wrong, especially when the Ice King leaned closer, mist rolling off him, cold enough to frost the ends of Barry's hair.

“Lenny!” a melodic voice cut the quiet, making the Ice King grimace. “The sacrifice didn't come through the gate! The cart left! What—what on earth are you doing?! Who is that?!”

As the Ice King lifted off him, all Barry could focus on was how she’d called him _Lenny_ , which further proved his point.

The Ice King couldn’t always have been like this.

Frost still clung to Barry, but he was able to take a deep breath and shake some of it from his hair as he sat up and looked past the Ice King, past the window he’d climbed through using a grappling hook and staunch patience, to the formal entrance of the chamber, where the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on stood.

But she was also monstrous in her own way. Her gown and jewelry were all made of gold, with a delicate crown atop her head, but her hair and eyes and skin were all gold too. The fabric moved like silk as she came closer, and her golden hair, curled in waves down her back near to her waist, waved and shifted around her shoulders as it should, but she was clearly not painted, but made of gold down to every fiber just like the king was made of ice.

“The Emerald Prince thought to kill me.”

“Only if you’d proven to be the villain my kingdom believes!” Barry protested, confident enough now to stand, though he was careful with his footing on the slick surface of the floor.

“Are you certain I’m not?” The Ice King’s fangs glinted in the sun coming in through the window.

“Prince? Why would they send us their prince?” The woman approached more swiftly, practically floating over the floor and bypassing the king without concern. She was even more beautiful up close but still unsettling to look at. “Did you do something vile?”

“ _No_ ,” Barry was quick to reply. “I replaced the real sacrifice and sent them toward the Shadow Lands to make their escape. No one knows I’m here. The soldiers didn’t see me make the switch. Are you the Ice King’s Queen?”

She laughed, and the Ice King snorted.

“His sister, dear, Princess Elisabeth. But call me Lisa.”

“Bartholomew, prince and future king of the Emerald Kingdom.” He reached instinctively to take her hand, but she drew back.

“Best not do that. My skin is as deadly as my brother’s. All I touch turns to gold.”

Barry looked upon her in further awe, but still, he wasn’t afraid. “You’re magical, clearly, but you couldn’t have been born like this.”

Again, the Ice King snorted, standing to his full height, which made him twice the size of his sister like some massive ogre. “Our mother would have been quite the sight if we had been.”

“Don’t be rude, Lenny. This castle is cursed, sweet prince,” Lisa said. “Don’t you know that?”

“They know nothing,” the Ice King spat, falling back to all fours with a slam and shudder of the room. “Their stories became half-truths and then lies since the curse took us.”

“I believe you,” Barry professed. “I suspected as much for years, that whatever you truly were must have been lost to time.”

“Careful,” the Ice King warned, for Barry had made to appeal as close to them as possible with a frantic dash forward, yet he understood the need for distance. “I’m still debating whether or not to add you to my garden of statues.”

“You try to frighten me, your majesty, but it’s clear you won’t risk harming me.”

“No? I will not hesitate to kill an enemy.”

“And I am not one.” Barry took another step forward, and though Lisa still stood between them, and there was plenty of space to protect Barry, they both leaned away, confirming his beliefs. “I only wish to see my friend and know that he is safe. Or… has he become cursed too?” Suddenly, Barry wondered if he was also suspectable and already becoming something deadly at his touch.

“The sacrifices do not join in our sorrows,” Lisa assuaged him. “Only those of us who were here in the beginning are cursed. But there is one boon the offerings receive.”

“Lisa—”

“No one ages within these walls.”

“What?” Barry gaped. “You mean… the sacrifices from almost two-hundred years are all still here and as young as the day they arrived?”

“See what you’ve done.” The Ice King stomped around Barry until he stood behind him. “He’ll want to stay now.”

“And why shouldn’t he? He’s this year’s offering, isn’t he?”

“He isn’t—”

“Come, see for yourself.” She motioned Barry toward the doors to venture ahead of her. “They’re all eager to meet the new blood.”

“ _Lisa_ ,” the Ice King boomed once more.

“Hush. I’ll bring him back to you once he sees his friend is safe.”

Trusting that the Ice King would not reach to hold him back and freeze him where he stood, Barry moved as indicated, ginger in his steps, though the closer he got to the doors, the less ice there was to disrupt his footing.

Lisa had left the doors open, giant things, three times the height of a man with the ceiling even higher in this master chamber of the castle. Barry had chosen wisely, assuming the Ice King would reside where the most ice gathered along the walls outside. Now, he found himself assaulted by a surprising but comforting warmth as soon as he crossed the threshold to leave.

He stepped out onto the landing of an immense staircase leading down. As he began to descend, Lisa floated out after him to get in front and lead the way—and she did indeed float, for her feet did not quite touch the ground.

“Which friend is yours?” she asked over her shoulder, keeping pace a few lengths in front of him. “A recent offering?”

“From last year. Cisco, House of Ramon.”

“Cisco?” She stopped, and Barry had to catch himself from walking into her. He worried for a moment that something was wrong, that something had happened to Cisco, but she smiled. “Of course. _Barry_ ,” she said knowingly and continued on without another word.

There were other landings they passed leading to hallways and more doors, but she brought them down and down, around and around, winding toward the ground floor, where the din of the some two-hundred attendants of this castle could be heard wondering where the sacrifice could be.

Once at the bottom of the staircase, Barry’s hair and clothing were wet from the frost having melted. He felt like a drowned dog, grimy from almost three days travel and restless sleep. It was as warm in this castle as any other, maybe cozier than it should be, considering the chill of the Ice King’s chamber.

And it was grand, so grand and beautiful, with tapestries and archways and furniture that belied what Barry had seen upstairs. Only the Ice King lived in drab darkness. The rest of this castle was a wonder—as were its people.

“There he is!”

“Princess Lisa brings him!”

“He’s handsome!”

“And armed! Remove him of all that immediately!”

Barry was swarmed, feeling the cloy of panic even if he had discovered a different sort of kingdom than expected, as he’d most hoped. Some of the faces were familiar, from the last twenty years or so, a few even looking at Barry in recognition too, but there were also elves and half-elves. He’d heard that in ages past elves lived hidden in his kingdom, but he’d never seen anyone of elven blood before, the race most known to be born with magic in their veins.

It was said they’d hidden their ears with magic too, for it clearly gave them away, the full-blooded elves slimmer with long, tapered ears stretching away from their heads, and the half-elves closer to humans in appearance but still with prominent points to their ears and an extra shimmer in their eyes.

Barry was so stunned, taking it all in, that he didn’t think to fight back as he was divested of his sword and belt.

“Are they sending us nobles now?” a woman with dark skin and intricately pinned hair sneered at him, as she inspected his short sword. “What’s your crime, darling? Bugger a few mates?”

“No!” Barry exclaimed, stricken by her coming close to guessing the crime that would have condemned him had he been the real sacrifice. “I’ve never—”

“Barry!” a familiar voice shouted, and Barry’s head snapped around so fast, he didn’t care that some wild looking half-elf with very strange clothing had just snatched the bejeweled dagger from the sheath on his ankle.

“Cisco!”

The others parted—most anyway—as Lisa watched on from a safe distance up the staircase, and there came Cisco, barreling toward him to throw himself on Barry with enough force that his feet left the ground. The embrace felt more sound and secure than any Barry had experienced since Cisco was taken.

“Oh, my friend, I missed you.”

“I told you not to follow me,” Cisco chided once he’d finished squeezing him. “But today is the day of the offering. Does that mean you did it? You finally convinced your father to stop?”

Barry looked down in shame, holding tight to Cisco’s forearms to keep him close. “I tried so many times, but he wouldn’t listen. I swapped places with this year’s sacrifice to come free you.”

“What’s goin’ on?!” a new voice crackled like thunder over the din of the crowd.

The other voices stopped, and anyone who hadn’t slunk away, did so now, all save Cisco, who slid his arm around Barry’s waist and turned to face outward as if to ward off some great threat. 

Then Barry saw why, because what came forward through the wide berth the humans and elves of the castle had created had to be another creature of the curse.

Just as the king was made of ice, and Lisa gold, this man, big and burly and menacing, was made of flames. He seemed mostly nude like the Ice King, but a long vest hung from his shoulders, made of his element just like Lisa’s garments.

Barry leaned into Cisco. He’d rather turn to ice or gold than be burned.

“Why are you clinging?” the flaming man demanded of Cisco. “Who is he?”

“This is Barry, Master Mick. My friend.”

“Not the sacrifice?”

“Not technically, but—”

“Then what is he doing here?” It wasn’t thunder, but the roar of a forest fire when he spoke.

“Calm down, Mick,” Lisa spoke over him. “Prince Barry took the sacrifice’s place. Your temper doesn’t have to be as fiery as your face.”

Barry didn’t think he could ever get used to reading expressions in elements, but Mick looked like burning fury. “Len knows about this?”

“He does. I’ll take the prince back to him once he’s had a moment to collect himself. Maybe we can clean and clothe him too, make him more presentable. Lenny’s temper isn’t the best these days either.”

“How many cursed are there?” Barry asked in wonder as Mick grudgingly backed off.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” a whispering voice said from nowhere and yet right at Barry’s ear. He jumped, leaning closer against his smaller friend as something began to form at his other side, an outline around a figure that didn’t seem to be there but was, like an apparition.

The phantom appeared slight like Cisco and young, though Barry knew most of the people here were well over 100 if not 200 years old. This new cursed creature was fully clothed, but his garments were all transparent and had been just as invisible before he materialized.

“I’m Spymaster for his royal high-horse up there. Hartley if I like you.” He grinned, his not-there eyes boring right through Barry.

“What happens if _you_ touch someone?”

“Poof,” he said with a pop of the P. “But don’t be too worried, pretty prince. There’s only one more of us, though he might be the most _shocking_.”

Barry frowned, suspecting hidden meaning in the word, but also not liking being called ‘pretty’. While once he’d found the compliment flattering, now it reminded him of those awful men in the alley.

“Go on, Cisco,” Lisa said, “get him tidied up, so we can return him to my brother. Everyone!” she shouted louder, since the crowd had started to titter again. “Make sure the cart is truly gone and that everything is sealed up tight. Nothing changes about the welcome feast unless the king deems it so, and so far, he has not made up his mind. Go!”

Everyone scattered, loyal to their princess as any good servants would be. She then passed Barry and Cisco a warm smile.

Barry was whisked across the large foyer of the castle with Cisco still holding his waist, leaving Lisa behind and the wisp of the Spymaster, and then passing the smoldering Mick. One more who was cursed, Hartley had said, which made five in total with the king. What a lonely place this must have been before it was filled with sacrifices. No wonder they welcomed them.

There were so many rooms and corridors and smaller staircases than the one that led to the Ice King’s chamber, Barry would need a guide for months to learn the place. At long last, having passed many of the bustling servants preparing for this supposed feast, they arrived at a long row of more closely spaced doors, and Cisco brought him to one that remained open.

“This was to be the new sacrifice’s quarters. It’s yours, I guess, until the king decides what to do with you.”

It was still spacious for a servant’s room, even with its own privy, bath, washbasin, and access to running water through a pump. There were clothes of varying sizes for men and women in an open wardrobe, and the bed had a beautiful patchwork quilt in shimmering colors and patterns.

“I feel like an honored guest in a noble’s house, not taking the place of a servant for an enemy king.” Barry spun about to take it all in. “You all have rooms like this?”

“We do. Though they’re becoming less abundant. They’ve remodeled several old guardrooms and larders in recent years. We make do.”

 _We_ , because Cisco was part of this kingdom now, not Barry’s.

As he turned to his friend, he could see how healthy and happy Cisco looked, maybe more so than he’d ever been in Emerald. He no longer had to pretend here, and he was clearly cared for. His clothes looked brand new, and there was an extra ruddiness to his brown cheeks.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Cisco said, indicating the bath, which someone had already filled with steaming water and looked very inviting given the chill that had set in after meeting the Ice king and with Barry’s clothes left damp. “Go on. I’ll find something in your size from the wardrobe.”

Barry did as he was told, stripping of what he’d thought was his plainest outfit, though everyone had still recognized his station. He left it all in a basket near the bath. The water was absolute heaven after three days on the road and a brush with being frozen.

“What will they do with my weapons?” Barry asked after he’d sunk his head below the surface to warm his chilled hair.

“I’m sure you’ll get them back. They only take such things until they’re sure there’s no threat. Master Mick will oversee it all. He’s weapons master and used to command the king’s army—when they had one.”

“With Lisa as princess, and Hartley the… Spymaster? Sounds ominous.”

“It’s a more daunting name than the truth. Hartley merely watches and listens to be sure there’s no unrest. He isn’t as sinister as he acts. Most of the time.” Cisco appeared from behind the bath, bringing a dry robe and some soap and oils that he set on a shelf within Barry’s reach.

Barry utilized the items to clean himself as his friend sat, close but keeping his eyes averted. “You’re all servants. Does that mean they force your labor?”

“Nothing like that. We just have our place. A place we got to _choose_. I’m finishing my apprenticeship with Master Mark, the king’s wizard, and Widow Caitlin. She was sacrificed only a decade ago.”

“Did you say wizard? Magic instead of alchemy?”

“Mark uses everything. I’ve learned so much this past year, Barry. Magic is a wondrous thing that can work alongside alchemy to create and heal, not only destroy. You’re right to challenge your father.”

“I know, I just wish challenging him was enough. Does all this mean you have no desire to escape with me?”

Cisco looked up at him fearfully.

“We can go,” Barry whispered, resting his arms on the edge of the bath. “Right now. Convince my father together. Tell him everything about this place.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’re a prisoner?”

“No. I could go, if I wanted. Everyone is free to leave if they choose.”

“Then you don’t want to come home?” Barry’s arms dropped back to the water. “Your family stayed silent like all offering families do, but I’m sure they miss you.”

“You’re sure? Really?”

Barry hadn’t actually seen them—Cisco’s parents and older brother. They always ducked away if they saw him coming. “ _I_ missed you. If I can convince my father of the truth, wouldn’t you want to be free of this place? It’s remarkable, the people too, but it isn’t your home.”

Doubt was the only clear emotion on Cisco’s face as his gaze drifted, but before he could say anything, the door opened.

Master Mick, the man of fire, hadn’t proven to be thunder, but the creature that entered was indeed _shocking_ , for he was a storm in motion, made entirely of lightning. He entered with a crackle, and all the hairs on Barry’s body outside the water stood tall and tingling.

“Would you hurry it up?” his voice snapped like lightning too. “Clean, dry, dress. These aren’t complicated tasks.” He too had attempted clothing, but only a robe. Anything else wouldn’t have held its shape, Barry supposed. He also had a face somehow, even eyes, separate from the other sparks of electric light that made up his form, though Barry wasn’t sure how to describe it other than magic.

“Master Mark?” Barry asked, hiding his body behind the tall back of the bath. “Such strange names.”

“Says _Barry_. Few call me ‘Marcus’, and no one calls Mick ‘Michael’.”

“Mark, Mick, Lisa, Len… Does Hartley shorten his name too?”

“Call him ‘Hart’ if you like. He’s likely to take you to bed.” Mark laughed—at least Barry thought the crack was a laugh, though he was busy blushing. “Formalities don’t stick around here long, so don’t expect me to call you _highness_. Now, hurry up. Your next audience with the king requires our assistance.”

 _‘Our’_ was revealed as Mark entered fully, and a woman came in behind him with long brunette hair and a steely expression, who Barry took for Widow Caitlin. She carried a potion bottle with a glowing blue substance swirling inside.

He couldn’t be sure if her cool expression was simply her demeanor or directed at him as prince of the kingdom that had shunned her. He vaguely recalled when she was chosen, because it had been around the time of his mother’s death, and she was one of many called ‘witch’ that year.

“If you want to avoid frostbite every time you’re in the king’s presence, you’ll drink this,” she said simply.

They made no move to turn away, simply stood there waiting for Barry to get out of the bath.

He ducked down lower.

Cisco scrambled to bring him the robe so he could step out without as much of an audience.

“Thank you,” he whispered heartfeltly.

There was a dressing screen at least, where Cisco had already draped some suitable clothing—basic trousers and a shirt and doublet, with a pair of leather boots. None of it was frilled like a noble would wear, but it was of far better quality and color saturation than Barry had ever seen on the commoners of his kingdom. Whoever made their clothing was a true artisan. He rather liked the deep red and marigold of his new garments, trimmed in leather to match his boots.

“Do you need someone to help tuck your cock away too?” Mark called when Barry had yet to emerge from the screen.

“Master _Mark_ ,” Caitlin said in a reprimand.

“Please, he’s a prince. As if he hasn’t dipped his wick in a few brothels.”

“He hasn’t,” Cisco defended, but Barry did not want that conversation to continue.

Summoning his courage, he stepped out from behind the screen and approached the wizard, careful not to get too close. He imagined that someone who touched him would be struck down like a bolt had come out of the heavens.

Caitlin came forward to hand him the potion, and he drank it swiftly. He expected it to be cool, but it burned down his throat.

“This…” he coughed as he handed the empty bottle back to her, “…this will protect me against the Ice King’s touch?”

“No, but it’ll make it more bearable to be near him. The effects will last a few hours. You’ll know when it starts to wear off, though I doubt he’ll keep you for that long.” Her coldness certainly felt personal with the way she stared him down, but he had little to defend himself with, other than being too weak for too long to stop any of this.

Barry wondered if there were potions to protect against all the elementals in the castle, but their proximities didn’t cause as extreme results. Around Lisa there was a slight metallic taste in his mouth, Mick made him sweat, Hartley made him lightheaded, and Mark made his ears tingle and his hair stand up.

The Ice King was far more potent.

“Come.” Lisa appeared, floating in the doorway. They all floated in their own way, Barry had noticed, except the king, who made everything quake with his steps. “Lenny grows impatient.”

Barry looked to Cisco, but he’d barely opened his mouth before his friend pounced upon him once more for a tight embrace. Then Cisco gasped, a common enough occurrence when he touched someone, but Barry hadn’t heard that sound in a year.

“A vision?”

“I… I don’t know how to explain…” Cisco pulled back, stunned but difficult to read.

“What did you see?”

“I can’t say.”

“Cisco—”

“I can’t say!”

It was then that Barry knew he would die here. Cisco was never good at hiding his emotions. But if Barry was headed to his execution, then he vowed to make his time count.

“It’s all right.” He coaxed Cisco back to him, and when he didn’t move, Barry breached the space between them and hugged his friend again. “I love you, and I am so glad I got to see you again. I’ll be back soon.”

Without waiting to hear Cisco’s response, Barry moved for the door, past the lightning wizard and his sharp-eyed assistant, to follow Lisa back through the castle.

Barry paid less mind to the servants they passed this time, moving quietly behind the golden princess, lost in thought. He could salvage this, even if he was destined to decorate the Ice King’s garden.

“Your hair’s still damp, sweet prince,” Lisa said once they returned to the grand hall that connected to the main doors of the castle and the bottom of the staircase that led to the Ice King’s chamber. “That won’t do around Lenny, even if Mark and good Widow Caitlin gave you some protection. Mick!” she called to the fiery man, who was as large as any normal soldier Barry had ever met, though not as looming as the Ice King.

Mick seemed to stomp as he moved toward them, but he too floated, flames pulsing from his body when he came to a halt. “What? Can I turn this brat to ashes yet?”

“No, Mick. Just a small little puff, dear, to dry his hair.”

Did she mean—?

Mick snarled like an angry dragon, and Barry jolted backward as a burst of heat nearly licked his hair with flames, leaving his face hot and his hair completely dry.

“Using me like a bloody barber,” Mick grumbled as he walked away.

“Not quite. We’ll need Hartley for that,” Lisa said with a scrutinizing frown at Barry’s dried locks falling into his eyes.

“At your service,” Hartley’s voice preceded his appearance again, right at Barry’s side, where he puffed a breath like blowing him a kiss, and the madness of Barry’s hair was suddenly tamed.

“Much better.” Lisa turned to the wall behind them and touched a dull stone with the tip of her finger, turning it to shimmering gold and reflecting Barry’s image back at him as clear as a calm pool.

The finest barber in all the Emerald Kingdom couldn’t have done better.

“No following us the rest of the way now, Hartley,” Lisa said, continuing toward the side staircase they had descended before. “You know Lenny hates it when you stick your nose where he hasn’t ordered it.”

Hartley’s translucent face pouted, and then he vanished on the spot.

The ascent to the Ice King’s chamber seemed longer than the way down, as Barry’s stomach filled with encroaching dread. “What is Len short for?”

“Crowned King Leonard of the Sapphire Kingdom, but that was a very long time ago.”

 _Sapphire_. Barry had never heard this place referred to as anything but Frozen.

Their journey was over with a sudden quickness before Barry could ask any of the questions that had arisen. He’d felt the increasing cold as they drew closer to the frosted over doors, but it wasn’t as unbearable thanks to the wizard’s potion, even with only a simple doublet instead of his furs. Once inside, he found his feet didn’t slip as easily either.

At the very end of the large room, the Ice King sat with a door on either side behind him. Barry wondered where they led. This didn’t seem like the main throne room, that was likely on the ground floor, but still, the throne he perched on was magnificent, even if what might have been shining metal once was covered in crystals of ice.

The Ice King lounged in such a carelessly human way. When he was human, he must have filled up the throne rather daintily, it was so large, but now, he took up the entire thing, and had to kick his legs over one side of the arm to fully support him—though maybe that was merely how he preferred to sit.

“All pampered and catered to, little prince?” He called down the expanse that separated them.

Lisa stepped aside, and Barry moved forward. As he approached the throne, he soon no longer felt Lisa behind him but dared not look back to show weakness.

“This doesn’t mean you are safe,” the Ice King warned, “or that you are welcome in my home.”

“Len, is it? Far better than Leonard or Ice King, I suppose. I understand. I’ve never liked being called Bartholomew.”

The Ice King frowned.

“I’ll call you majesty or Ice King until we trust each other. But on that day, I will call you Len.”

“Is this a game to you?” The Ice King straightened. Barry stood almost directly before the throne now, chilled and shivering, but without any creeping frost on his hair or clothes. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“My father is wrong for what he does, but to see this curse on you, for all the wonders magic can do, maybe he is not wrong about that.”

“Magic alone did not curse us!” the king roared. “One person who wielded it did, and I brought her wrath upon me myself.”

That gave Barry pause. There was so much he didn’t know. “You could tell me your story.”

“It is a long one, little prince, and I grow weary of your presence already.” He stood, crunching down the steps between Barry and the throne and bringing a gust of icy wind with him.

Barry sensed how close he was to death but stood his ground. “I only want to bring my people home.”

“And where are they supposed to go? _Home_ , you say. Do you think the thief who almost lost her hands because she was starving or the man who lusted after the wrong noble’s son or your friend who has visions—do they have a home to go back to when their own people cast them out as villains?”

“ _I_ didn’t.”

“Good for you. You cared once it finally affected someone you knew.”

Barry’s fists clenched to be called a heartless coward, but he’d called himself worse this past year.

He also couldn’t overlook the example of a _man_ and a noble’s son.

“I suppose you've taken in all the corrupted, haven't you?”

“You call them _corrupt_ ,” the Ice King stomped another clawed foot closer, “yet ask for leniency?”

“I only speak as I was taught! I don't agree with it! I don't believe they're corrupt. Not any of them. I don’t want to. If my father understood—”

“He’d still keep up the status quo. Your kingdom shuns what they don’t understand because of my curse, yet they don’t even remember the time before.”

“So tell me! Let me know the truth so we can learn from our past instead of continuing to repeat it.” Barry stepped forward, too close, he knew, but like before, instead of reaching out and ending him, the Ice King backed away. “You’d really let them all go, wouldn’t you? If they wanted it?”

“They don’t, but you are welcome to ask them, including your friend.”

“Then I am not a prisoner either?”

“That is up for debate.”

If Cisco had seen Barry’s death in his vision, it couldn’t be now. Not yet. “Give me the chance to prove I will go back and change things for the better. I’ll stay for as long as it takes, but once you believe me, once you know me and I know you, let me go.”

“And what if I never believe you? You’re the prince. You could bring an army to my door after learning my secrets.”

“If you never believe me… then you either have another servant or another statue to crush. But that means you take an audience with me every day.”

The king scoffed, turning to stomp back up to his throne and throw himself onto it with an elegant ease that should have been impossible. “Sounds frightfully dull.”

“Yes, I can see your calendar is quite full.”

He rumbled with laughter like a brewing winter storm.

For a long stretch of minutes, he stared at Barry with his uniquely human eyes—different from his companions. The Ice King was more tied to his humanity, even if he’d lost the feeling of it in his heart, and more cursed and tortured because of it, perhaps.

Yet still he said, “Fine. But make no mistake, little prince, if you prove unworthy or attempt to betray me, I will not hesitate to turn you into frozen rubble like that thief.”

All Barry could do was return his stare and wonder—What was this curse? Why had it been cast? And what had the king been like before it changed him and his kingdom? He had to know, even if he saw the truth stretched out before him.

_Love, death, and blue eyes in a sea of white…_

The only true love Barry would ever know was his friendship with Cisco. He could live with that.

Until he died.

“You have a deal, your majesty.”

XXXXX

After the prince left, Len rose from his frozen throne and lumbered toward the door behind him at his right. The path there led throughout the castle, to intricate passageways only meant for the royal family. Like his personal chamber, these passageways were frozen over from continued use, but they allowed him to keep watch without forcing his cold on those who served him.

Mick kept the castle warm and bright. Mark kept everyone healthy. Lisa kept them happy. And Hartley kept Len informed of all he ever needed to know. Still, sometimes he preferred to see for himself.

He went to the servants’ quarters to where he knew they had set aside a room for this year’s sacrifice. He did not have doorways into every area, but it was easy enough to remove a small stone brick somewhere unseen to spy on Prince Barry and young Cisco.

Cisco was… fine. Len had barely spoken to him in the many months since his arrival. He barely spoke to any of them. That was for his advisors to attend to. But Lisa liked Cisco, and he hadn’t raised any fuss or trouble with the others. He’d been learning the ways of alchemy and magic from Mark alongside the healer, Widow Caitlin, making a fine addition to their community, a simple man who was unfortunate enough to have been gifted something the Emerald Kingdom feared. Visions. Signs of the future. His powers required touch, however, and for that, Len was grateful.

He didn’t want to know anything of his own future, spanning endlessly before him.

Watching Barry and Cisco talk, alone in Barry’s quarters, all he overheard them discuss at first was Barry’s deal with Len, and then what each of them had been up to during their year apart.

“You see, Lenny. Just two friends happily reunited.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t bother turning to face his sister, who’d come from the other end of the passageway. “Cisco is inconsequential, but that prince…”

“What are you thinking?”

“In the end, he’ll try to kill me again. If he does, I’ll kill him first.”

She laughed, however softly to not be overheard, clearly not agreeing.

Barry was beautiful, energetic and bold, and not as afraid as many others, even some who had been in the castle for decades or more. Len could admit he found him captivating, but his heart was as much a block of ice as the rest of him. That wouldn’t change. That would never change. And neither would the hard-heartedness of others, the Emerald Kingdom included, even if their prince proved soft.

No, nothing would change, but whatever happened when Len and Barry began their ‘audiences’, he hoped the end he foresaw did not come quickly.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew - let me tell you, writing verse and songs is HARD. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and continue to tell me what you think.

Barry was a prisoner of the Ice King until he earned his freedom. He might die here, or his fate could be worse, but the people of this place and its curse might finally give him the answers that could change the hearts and minds of the Emerald Kingdom forever.

His father would know he was missing by now but not to where. It could take weeks or even months before they realized where he’d gone. That was all the time Barry needed. He was on a desperate mission that could doom or save countless lives now and into the future. As prince and future king of Emerald, it was his duty to see this through—even if it was the last duty he ever performed.

Despite all that, his current preoccupation was staring at his reflection in the glass above the water basin in his room, fretting over his appearance for a welcome feast.

His hair was still well-coifed, his new clothes an attractive color combination, though he never thought he'd look so good in red, but how was he supposed to face all those people downstairs?

“I don't need a feast. I’m hungry, but… this feels wrong. I’m not really one of them. I’m not the sacrifice.”

“But you _are_ one of us,” Cisco insisted. “You don't have to hide any part of you here, Barry. Magic is used freely. People love freely. You could stay forever here and be happy.”

“Is that what you saw when you touched me?”

“I…”

Barry turned to look at his friend, sitting on the edge of his bed. Cisco had brought him several more articles of clothing, traded out for the others now that they knew his size, but he’d decided to stick with the dark red and marigold for now.

“Please don't make me say it,” Cisco said, staring down at his knees. “I saw you, I’ll admit that much, and you were smiling, but I… I don't know.”

“It can’t be all bad if I was smiling.” Barry joined him on the bed, creaking the plush mattress as he sat. “You don’t have to say more. We’ll find out together, like we always do. I know that being here is the right thing, no matter what happens to me. I don’t suppose you could simply tell me about this place, the king, his people, the curse?”

“I don’t know everything, but I can’t say much. We’re not supposed to let certain things slip to the sacrifice the first few nights.”

“Why not?”

“In case you were a criminal. There have been some sent here, in the past, who deserved to be condemned.”

“We’re in trouble then since I’m such a heinous brigand.” Barry chuckled.

Cisco chuckled too, but his posture was slouched and his shoulders tight with tension.

“Can you really not answer anything?” Barry asked. “Because I don’t understand how Master Mick is weapons master but didn’t turn my sword and belt to flames.”

Cisco had also returned Barry’s weapon, which was warm to the touch but not singed or marred.

His dagger was still missing though…

“They can control their touch if it’s on something not living,” Cisco explained. “They still give off, well, heat for Mick, that tingly feeling around Mark, the trail of ice with the king, and so on, but they can choose to not alter objects. It’s things that are alive that are the problem.”

“Even plants? Birds?”

“Anything…” Cisco looked away, a shadow crossing his face.

“You’ve seen them then? Kill things?”

“Not on _purpose_ ,” he said fervently, as if desperate to defend them. “Not always on purpose. It can be useful with pests. You’ll never find any rodents or insects here, aside from the ones we want, like bees for honey. And, well, there was a thief a few months back…”

“I saw him.”

Cisco’s eyes widened.

“He made a fitting lesson from the king.”

That caused Cisco to shiver as if the Ice King was in their presence now, and Barry got the impression that the king didn’t walk among his people the way the others did. The lack of ice trails everywhere but in his chamber proved that.

“That’s it though? Pests and people who threaten this place?”

“And…” Cisco trailed off, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “ _Very_ rarely, but… sometimes there are accidents.”

Barry felt a stir of nausea, imagining statues made of ice and gold, piles of ash from fire and lightning, and the nothing left behind from those who went _poof_. “What do they do with—”

“Are you going to keep everyone waiting?” Hartley appeared like a ghost, just suddenly there inside Barry’s door. He must be able to pass right through it, even more powerful than a gust of wind. “Hurry along now, pretty prince,” he said, and vanished again just as quickly.

“Does he often do that?” Barry rose from the bed with a scowl.

“Basically always.” Cisco followed suit. “You get used to it.”

“Should I…?” Barry gestured back at his sword belt hanging from a handle on the wardrobe. “I mean, I usually have it for banquets. It’s part of proper dress.”

“Barry, you’re not in Emerald anymore.” Cisco said with a slight smirk. “This is a nice banquet. I had mine last year, after all. But it isn’t _proper_. Come on.” He grasped Barry’s hand to drag him to the door. “I’ll introduce you to my friends. You don’t have a specific place to sit. You can sit by me.”

 _Thank goodness._ Barry had worried he might be put on display.

That feeling reignited, however, when they reached the grand ballroom opposite the main entrance downstairs that had been turned into a banquet hall with tables to fit everyone in the castle. There didn’t seem to be any hierarchy to it, other than the lone table at the very back facing everyone with an obvious throne in the center and two smaller but elegant chairs on either side of it.

The king and his elementals were not yet there, but everyone else was, and all two hundred pairs of eyes turned to look at Barry as he and Cisco entered. Cisco hadn’t let go of his hand the entire way, and for that, Barry was grateful, clinging tight as his friend led him to one of the center tables, and they took two empty seats.

On Barry’s other side was the dark-skinned woman who’d asked if he’d ‘buggered any mates’, and across from them was the half-elf with curiously bright and mismatched clothing.

“Aren’t we lucky you know our little fortune teller,” the woman said, as everyone else murmured and continued to gawk at Barry. “Shawna. Thieving. Forty-five years.” She held out a hand, sporting fingerless gloves and black painted nails.

Barry tried to accept the hand as he would a noble lady, to which she laughed and put her hand in his with a shake. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “But… thieving? Forty-five years?”

“It’s customary to introduce yourself with the crime that sent you here and how long you’ve been in the castle,” Cisco said.

“Oh.”

 _Forty-five?_ Shawna didn’t look any older than Barry or Cisco, yet she’d been here for decades.

Widow Caitlin was there as well, beside the half-elf, giving Barry a calculating stare.

“Axel.” The half-elf waved. “Charlatanry. One hundred and seventy… oh who knows anymore. Two maybe? You’re a fun addition.” He laughed when Barry held out a hand to him as well, and he stood to accept it—which showed the jeweled dagger on his belt.

“That’s mine.” Barry reached for it, but Axel pulled away to reclaim his seat.

“Ridiculous. I’ve had this dagger for ages.”

“You most certainly have not—”

A bell chimed, and the din of the room instantly quieted, an unseen door opening behind the head table, permitting the elementals in order—Mark, Hartley, Mick, Lisa, and finally, the Ice King himself, who brought with him a wave of cool air that made everyone shudder.

 _Len_.

The names, so human, however strange to Barry’s ears, did not fit such mystical creatures.

The Ice King took his throne, frosting it ever so slightly, as if the control the others had with non-living things was less possible with him. His sister and Mick each sat next to him, with Mark and Hartley in the chairs further down. They were a sight all together, like something out of a storybook or fantastic dream.

That’s when Barry realized that all the tables were laden with food—game, vegetables, cheeses, and bread. He was ravenous, but he’d been so distracted by the eyes on him, he hadn’t let his attention wander, or his mouth salivate.

But unlike the feast before him, the head table had nothing.

“They can’t eat,” Cisco whispered. “Not like that.”

“Then how do they…?” Barry started to ask but thought better of it. Everyone was waiting for the king to speak.

Once the room was still, the Ice King stood, large and looming above everyone. “Another year, another sacrifice,” he bellowed. “But as you know, we were robbed of that sacrifice today, for the prince of the Emerald Kingdom deemed us _unworthy_ and released the offering to escape into the wilds.”

Barry hadn’t deemed—

“Make no mistake,” the king continued before Barry could protest, “he is not a replacement. He is not a guest. He is here by my grace alone, and it will not be lasting. He wishes to change your fates, and so I ask you now, so he can have part of his answer early.

“Would you return to the Emerald Kingdom if given the chance?”

“Never!”

“No, my king!”

“We serve you, always!”

A resounding chorus spoke up, and Barry shrank in on himself as the voices grew and more and more of them cried out to say the same.

The Ice King looked so smug, his eyes piercing as he hushed the crowd. “There you have it, little prince. But I suppose you think yourself a hero anyway, hoping to prevent persecution of the _corrupt_. He claims he wants to know me,” he returned to his people, “know us and our ways, our curse, to bring an end to the Emerald Kingdom’s follies. Maybe he is honest. Maybe he hopes to overthrow me.

“Wait—” Barry tried.

“He is the future king of our neighbor, after all!” the king cried louder. “I wonder what to do with him…”

“Kill him!” someone shouted.

“Stop the Emerald Prince!”

“Freeze him now, majesty!”

“No!” Cisco burst up from his seat, drawing the angry eyes of his fellows. His friends had not erupted with such words, but many others had. “Please. He means well. Truly. I know he means to help. He’s not like the others. Barry has been my friend for years with no hope of gain for himself.”

“No?” Widow Caitlin said, cool and expressionless. “He did not know of your visions or benefit from them?”

“He… did, but… but I offered my visions, he never asked—”

“Sounds like a charlatan to me!” Axel called.

He and Shawna laughed, and many nearby laughed with them, leaving Barry certain that his death was imminent, but the Ice King quieted the crowd once more, as Cisco sat with a distressed frown.

“Let the prince speak,” the king said. “Go on, tell us. What makes you not like the others of your land?”

With all eyes on him, as pointed as the tips of pitchforks, Barry hesitantly stood. The seats Cisco had chosen for them were almost perfectly in the center of the room, making him feel surrounded and very aware of the peril he was in if they called for his death.

“I… I don’t believe in corruption,” Barry said, causing an uproar of fresh murmurs. “I don’t! Not like they say. Not for loving someone or having magic inside you. I only wish to understand to be able to better convince my father.”

“He’s not one of us!”

“Kill him anyway!”

“How can we trust him?”

The voices of dissent returned, and Cisco looked to Barry pleadingly to say more, to say the truth—that he _was_ like them who the Emerald Kingdom would call corrupt too if they knew his secret. But Barry had held that in for so long, he didn’t think he could admit it here, like this, in the middle of a crowded room.

The voices rose higher, and Cisco’s stare grew more insistent. Barry had to speak to save himself, and as much as it shook him, he readied himself to do just that, when the Ice King hushed the crowd like before. 

“I hear you, good people, but I also hear disagreement, and not everyone has spoken. Let us take it upon ourselves to make the Emerald Prince prove himself. We will have our feast, but as the days and weeks pass, I will look to all of you to help me decide what to do with him.

“Make sure the prince pulls his weight and that he is worthy of whatever fate he earns.”

There were stomps of feet and a clatter of dishes as people pounded the tables with their fists like some tribal ritual, a promise between them that cast even more menacing stares Barry’s way. The king had painted him with a target, ensuring Barry’s time here would not be easy.

“To the feast!” the Ice King clapped, and the resonance of his large, claw-like hands cast an extra chill through the room that spurred his people to attack the hot food before them.

Everyone started filling their plates, but as famished as Barry was, his stomach churned at what had transpired. He was in enemy hands and had no idea how to gain their trust.

“Relax. No one will dare touch you now.” Shawna smacked his back so hard, his chin nearly collided with his empty plate. “They’ll leave that to the king,” she snickered, smacking him again before reaching for a large leg of juicy game meat.

“At least it’ll be quick.” Axel snickered in kind.

“ _Stop_ ,” Cisco pleaded. “They’re only joking.” He filled his own plate and then started to fill Barry’s, nudging him to eat.

Maybe Shawna and Axel were only joking, but Barry could feel eyes on him from all sides, and Widow Caitlin kept passing him her frosty stare. She might as well have had the same powers as the Ice King for how chilly she appeared.

“Eat,” Shawna nudged him as Cisco had. “You’re no good to anyone sulking. Make friends! Get the people on your side, and the king will have no choice but to spare you.”

“How do I do that?” Barry muttered. “Everyone hates me.”

“Prove you're useful.” Axel shrugged, tearing into his own leg of meat. “That’s what we did.”

“More wine!” someone shouted. “And how about a tale from the good bard?”

An echo of like requests resounded, and when Barry looked around to see who they meant, he realized everyone’s attention was on Axel.

He winked at Barry and hopped up onto the tabletop, sliding platters and pitchers out of his way with his feet. “Are the masses demanding a tale?”

“A legend!” another voice called.

“Tell us about our fletcher, Axel!”

“The first sacrifice!”

Since there was no hierarchy to who sat where, there was no way for Barry to tell at first who the fletcher might be, but he saw a few heads turn toward a table behind him at a man with a blond beard and hard eyes, holding a very pretty young woman at his side who wore tiny round spectacles.

Though Barry supposed neither of them was truly _young_. The man was over two-hundred if he’d been the first sacrifice.

“There’s nothing I like better than a proper redemption story!” Axel cried. “And I can say that. I met him when he was still insufferable!”

The crowd laughed.

“Someone pass me that wine!”

A full goblet was handed up to Axel, and he took a healthy swig before beginning, “There came the night!”

Everyone cheered, and then quieted after what must have been a familiar opening.

“There came the night!” He stomped his feet, keeping time with spoken verses.

“When a rich man’s son who dallied  
owed more than he could rally  
to the tavern in the square.  
  
“And hence it was he was indebted  
for all the women bedded,  
and his father kicked him out to earn his fare.

“But oh alas! He had no skills but the thrills that he had wasted  
and liquor he had tasted—”

“Still true!” someone shouted, and another round of laughter filled the air.

“—and liquor he had tasted to get by,” Axel ended, balancing ginger steps on down the table with nimble leaps and flourishes to the crowd’s delight.

“The rich man’s son did wade and wallow  
and become so very sallow  
like a man cast adrift on a lonely, empty isle,

“But soon he turned his eyes to thieving,  
blind to all his stealing,  
and picked the temping pocket of the wrong kind of smile.

“There came the night!” he called once more, starting a clap with his stomps that got the crowd clapping with him.

“When he stole from worse than merchant,  
who wondered how far _he_ bent,  
and lured him in with cloak and soak to keep the chill away.

“Alas again! He tried to run,  
but the seedy slaver won,  
by giving chase into the night for fight was yet a plight to be made right!  
And was he caught?”

“No!” the crowd cheered.

“He ran and ran,  
with cloak in hand  
and emerald crest on emerald seaming,  
lovely bright and gleaming  
to the north!

“But lo, the land was quiet,  
yet he would surely riot  
before he stopped,  
lest he drop,  
as he reached the gates at hand.

“And was he caught?”

“No!”

“Bright magic lit the dawn  
as he dashed across the lawn  
like a shot  
fired taut  
as an arrow to our king.

“Those others green,  
left unseen,  
learned to fear,  
while he did cheer,  
and swore to Emerald no longer  
—a frozen arrow’s stronger—  
the fletcher ever after and bow master!”

He stretched his arms wide with a final stomp, but then pulled one hand close to his mouth and whispered.

“Just a pity it took a hundred years instead of any faster.”

The crowd cheered again with a smattering of laughter and applause.

“We all know who’s bed that cloak’s on the end of now!” someone called, and the fletcher pulled his woman closer against his side.

Only when the laughter died, with Axel bowing low to accept his accolades, did the fletcher speak.

“ _Five_ years. It took five years before I surpassed the king’s weapons’ master with a bow.”

“It’s true!” Mick called from the head table.

“And only twenty more to lose his good humor!” Axel shouted back.

“Whose fault was that?” the fletcher responded.

“But!” Axel cried to keep everyone’s attention on him as they laughed louder. “But. I say to you all now… here comes the night!” he cried, and then bent to speak directly to Barry. “And on this night, sweet prince, how would you tell that tale?”

Barry’s cheeks burned hot and his heart jumped into his throat. “I, um…”

“Go on. I’m curious what the Emerald stories say.”

“I-I thought… bards were supposed to sing.”

“It’s better this one doesn’t,” Shawna murmured.

“Free verse is allowed.” Axel scowled as more snickers arose. “You want a song, give us one. How would you sing the tale of the _Green Arrow_ first fired into the heart of this place?”

Barry felt more on display than ever, with every table watching him, including that of the Ice King and his court. “I know a different version.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Axel hopped down from the table but remained standing. “Maybe a dozen or so? And what’s your favorite?”

“The story is similar but paints the slaver as a noble.”

“He was one!” the fletcher chimed in, eyes hard again and smile thin. “He was both, but history is sung by the victors.”

There was a tense silence where Barry wasn’t sure how to proceed, but then a clear, melodic voice rose up beside him.

“ _Beware the lure of passion’s ploy to take what’s not your own_.”

Barry turned to Cisco, both sitting, facing each other, and smiled as he jumped in to join him on the verse.

“ _By king and country, you’ll be caught and exiled from your home.  
As once a thief in dark of night did rob a noble’s horse  
And run when he was chased off road beyond a noble course._

“ _And the thief ran on_ ,” Barry sang powerfully on the chorus, with Cisco falling to harmony they had done many times before.

“ _Swallowed up by greed,  
Toward a hungry maw  
On the hill._

“ _Those in pursuit were sieged by death and magic in the air_ ,” Barry led, and Cisco came in later to add harmony they had not used the first time.

“ _Held back by frozen gates ahead and all they’d known to fear.  
The thief escaped beyond the wall, assured that he was free  
But down the Ice King came to feed and warned the rest to flee._

“ _And the thief cried on,  
Swallowed up by greed,  
But the hungry maw  
Had enough._

 _“So beware the vice that will feed the story’s end_ ,” they sang in unison, “ _for the next year comes again too soon_.”

Cisco nodded for Barry to give the final line, and he did, softer now but loud enough to fill the room.

“ _And the Ice King sings the final tune._ ”

The ceiling was high so that Barry’s voice echoed long after he’d finished, and while he continued to smile at his friend, the silence that reigned in the absence of their song drew his eyes to the head table, where all other eyes had turned too, because the Ice King was staring stoically back at him.

Those eyes nearly glowed, cutting across the expanse between them, but Barry knew it was not magic. His eyes were simply that blue.

“Well now,” Axel cut the silence as sharply as the king’s gaze, “the story might have been shit, but your singing’s not half bad. Our young fortune teller too. We’ll have to teach them something more fitting for next time, eh?” he called louder, and another rumble of laughter filtered through the hall.

Barry blushed at the shouted compliments and applause, thinking that a few of the eyes on him were a little less unfriendly now, even if the Ice King said nothing.

Axel sat, and with his departure from the stage, the din of separate conversations reigned once again, allowing some of the blood to leave Barry’s cheeks. He watched Axel add more food to his plate, reaching over the woman next to him to grab an especially large piece of cheese. She shoved him back into his seat with impressive strength, and as he laughed, unruffled, the jeweled dagger smacked the tabletop and unhooked from his belt with a clatter.

Barry knabbed it, but then grandly handed it back to Axel. “Let’s say I get that back on my own someday. _Without_ you noticing. Then can it be mine again?”

“Good luck with that,” Shawna snorted, as Axel held the dagger delicately between his fingers.

“I’m the talented one around here at making things… _disappear_.” He waved his hands around the dagger, covering it from Barry’s sight, and when his hands parted, the dagger was gone.

“Magic…” Barry gasped.

The woman next to Axel sneered, “Nobles. Can’t tell the difference between magic and basic sleight of hand.” She was beautiful but had a lethality to her that told Barry she had likely been a soldier or an assassin, especially given the defined muscles bulging through her shirt sleeves.

“It’s an illusion,” Axel said, lifting the dagger from his lap. “Not real magic. But this beauty is still mine.” He grinned as he hooked it back onto his belt, eyeing Barry in challenge.

“Until I earn it back,” Barry promised, to which those around them snickered. It wasn’t some grand family heirloom, but it was precious to Barry—a gift from General Eobard on his eighteenth birthday. He’d learn everything he could from these people and gain both the dagger back and their trust.

Barry began to eat more normally then, chatting with Cisco, Axel, and Shawna, with occasional additions by Caitlin, though she never addressed Barry directly. As the feast waned on, he realized that the room had grown darker, more torches lit to fill the hall with light, but while the evening shadows had indeed crept upon them, the room also felt warmer, and he soon saw why.

The head table where the elementals had been watching and talking amongst themselves was now empty, the Ice King’s throne looking wet as it melted without his presence.

“They don’t stay out at night,” Cisco said.

“Part of the curse?”

“Yes…”

“What?” Barry pressed when he sensed that Cisco was keeping something from him.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I can’t say,” Cisco whispered. “I’m welcome here in ways… only you ever welcomed me back in Emerald, and for that, no one will ever replace you in my heart as friend and brother, but…”

Barry shook his indignancy away as he saw his friend’s pinched frown. “I understand. I’m meant to earn learning the rest, and I will. I will change things like I promised, Cisco, even if you never want to come home with me.”

Cisco took Barry’s hands beneath the table, like a silent apology for wanting to stay. “Eventually, we’ll be able to talk about everything, and then I can explain why I’m so happy this is my home now.”

Barry supposed he’d never envisioned what a place where he could be himself would feel like. He wasn’t sure he knew _how_ to be himself. Cisco knew his secret, but Barry had never been able to openly express romantic affections for another man. He saw men and women express it to each other all the time, but…

But here there was so much more to be amazed by.

A pitcher held aloft at the end of the table caught his attention, and when he looked, he saw that no one was holding it. It _floated_ , moving down the table to the waiting hand of an elf.

The elf was broad-shouldered and handsome, with black hair and an unruly curl hanging across his forehead. He poured water for himself, and then some for the human woman next to him, who sat close, clinging to his arm.

They were clearly a couple, something that would have condemned the woman too, just for that—lying knowingly with someone of mystic blood. Perhaps that was what had happened, him sent here, discovered as an elf, and her following, called corrupt right behind him.

Fewer eyes were on Barry now, and it afforded him the sight of _casual_ magic being performed all around, as well as other mixed couples showing affection. Other items floated rather than having to be handed down. There were simple transformations like bread becoming cakes, and the white meat of the game birds becoming dark for those who preferred it. Even mending could be done at the wave of a hand, fixing a stain from an overzealous wine drinker or a button that had fallen off someone’s tunic.

Barry stared at it all in awe, but maybe more so at the couples, so comfortable and unafraid together, whether elves and humans or half-elves and—

His heart jumped, all other focus drained away, as he looked back to the muscled woman beside Axel, who had a beautiful dark-haired half-elf beside her that she was cupping the cheek of, whispering sweet words to that had both of them smiling, and then she _kissed_ her, simple but bold, right there at the table for everyone to see.

No one else seemed to care or even looked their way. And they weren’t the only ones. At other tables there were other such couples, just as brazenly holding each other or enjoying brushes of their lips—women together, _men_ together. Suddenly, Barry noticed all of them and couldn’t look away.

“You’re safe here,” Cisco whispered, noticing his diverted attention with a soft smile.

Barry smiled too, because these daring couples gave him hope, even if he wasn't ready to sing his own secret to the rafters like he had the thief's tale.

He shook his head when Axel tried to fill his empty water goblet with wine, but Axel insisted. “It’s your party, even if much of the room is being poopers about it. Have one glass, or you will deeply offend me.”

Barry had two, enough that, combined with his exhaustion, his eyes soon started to droop, and his head nearly slumped into a pudding.

Cisco coaxed him out of his seat to lead him from the hall, assuring him that he could go to bed whenever he wanted now that the king was gone, even if there were a few jeers thrown their way as they left. The others had all been departing too—Cisco’s friends—though he wouldn't have pegged them for early retirees.

“Where’s your room?” Barry asked, waking up more as they walked, having passed a few others from the banquet but alone now in the corridor to Barry’s chambers.

“Right next door,” Cisco said. “People change rooms sometimes, but generally, each new sacrifice is next to the previous year’s. Easier to expand that way.

“Axel and Shawna aren’t so bad, right? And Caitlin will warm to you. She just doesn’t talk much until she gets to know someone.”

“And here I was taking it personally,” Barry joked. “They’re lovely, really, but an odd match for friends, especially since you've all been here a different amount of time.”

Cisco wrinkled his nose.

“It just surprised me!” Barry amended.

“They all have other friends too, and so do I. Everyone is friendly here. They will be to you too, I swear. But the four of us have… a lot in common.”

“Caitlin also works with the wizard, right?”

“And Shawna. She collects most of the supplies we use. I’m sure you’ll see for yourself. They’ll all think of ways to put you to work.”

“Is that what they did to you?”

“To start. To gauge what sort of person I was but also my interests. You’ll be fine, Barry,” he reassured him, taking both hands again. “How can it not be when you were nothing but honest in there?”

The knot in Barry's stomach twisted to remind him that he wasn't as certain as he pretended. “Do you think we offended the king with that story?”

“He isn’t easily offended,” Cisco said, “or I wouldn't have started it.”

“His gaze was just so…”

“Intense. I know.”

They both shivered, and after another tight squeeze of Barry’s hands, Cisco let him go.

“Sometimes, in my dreams, I see a world where magic is used openly again, where people love openly whoever they want. I like to think that’s the future and not too far off.”

“Maybe it is,” Barry said, thinking that this might be Cisco’s way of mending the impact of his vision from earlier. “Goodnight, my friend.”

“Goodnight, Barry. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Barry didn’t bother lighting any candles or lanterns when he entered his room, finding his way easy enough in the dark. The idea of sleeping in a real bed reminded him of his exhaustion, and he barely took the time to strip before he climbed under the cozy covers.

The quilt smelled like lavender. They really had done everything they could to make the sacrifice feel welcome, even if they were cautious of anyone new and nothing had turned out as they expected.

As Barry closed his eyes and started to drift off, he wondered where the elementals had gone when the sun set and what they did during the night. One of the many mysteries he had to solve, he supposed, and come morning, he’d be ready to get to work.

XXXXX

Len stood in the same passageway he’d watched the prince from earlier, seeing the bed clearly through the hole he’d made by removing a carefully chosen stone. His goal wasn't to peep, and it was far too dark to see much of him undressing anyway, but the faintest flash of bare skin still made his chest feel warm—and nothing felt warm to him anymore.

The young prince was just so beautiful with a voice to match that had enchanted Len, so much so that he hadn’t dared speak after the tale Barry sang for fear of his voice breaking, even if the words had painted him as the villain.

Len _was_ a villain, worse than any bard’s tale could say. His people were too forgiving, but then, none of them had been here in the beginning, only those who carried the curse with him.

He’d been keeping his eyes on the banquet hall and knew the moment when Barry and Cisco had left, but now, the prince merely slid into bed, planning nothing untoward but slumber.

Len had to admit that Barry seemed earnest with no ulterior motives, yet the story he predicted would have to play out. The prince would try and fail to find a way to mend the two kingdoms’ differences, and then he’d either deem it necessary to slay Len after all or continue to believe in a cause doomed to fail that Len would have to intervene in.

There was no ending where over two-hundred years of dissenting beliefs was resolved by a single hopeful boy made king.

Turning from the even breaths of the prince, who had already fallen asleep, Len replaced the stone and moved quietly back down the passageway to his chamber. He knew where his court members were, but for him, there was nowhere else to go but back to his icy halls.

He shivered as he crossed into the main room, a sensation that made him smirk, and then continued behind the throne to the other door, the one on the _left_ , where no one else was ever allowed to go. 

XXXXX

Len was shocked—and possibly a little irritated—to leave his private room the next morning, nearly just after the crack of dawn and planning to sprawl himself across his throne dramatically before calling for the young prince, only to discover Barry already waiting for him.

“I expected a chronically late and ambivalent young royal, and yet… here you are,” Len sneered, crunching one clawed hand down onto the armrest of his frozen throne.

Today, Barry was dressed in complementing green and blue for his trousers, shirt, and doublet, accentuating the hue of his eyes, with the contrast and bright light of the sun making his auburn hair far redder than before.

The boy was a royal, gorgeous, and seemingly smart and talented—surely, he had to have glaring faults hidden away, or was otherwise secretly daft or entirely full of himself. Yet, despite the haughty smirk he wore as he bowed lowly in Len’s presence, his eagerness seemed genuine.

“Majesty,” Barry greeted as he finished his bow. “Widow Caitlin left several draughts in front of my door to keep back your chill, so after scavenging for some quick breakfast, I came straight here for our inaugural audience. Princess Lisa assured me you would be ready.”

“I’m sure she did,” Len grumbled. Gripping the side of his throne more tightly, he made a show of easy strength by swinging himself up onto it with a loud crash and burst of icy wind that made Barry shudder.

The prince remained undaunted, however, and steadied himself with a shake of his hair. “I understand certain things have been kept from me. Cisco is loyal to you, aside from sharing what he deemed safe, but I intend to learn the rest, as I told you.”

“You will know me, and I you,” Len recounted. “So far, I have learned that you are equal parts bold and meek, completely ignorant of my kingdom, an admittedly impressive bard… and quick to blush.”

Barry’s cheeks went instantly scarlet.

 _Ignorant again_? Len wondered. _Or merely bashful?_

“One would think you’d be used to having attention on you, little prince.”

“N-not volatile attention.”

“You sure? Not everyone is tolerant of princes, not even your own people.”

A scowl crossed Barry’s face, like he knew of some not so well-meaning subjects personally, but he kept that story to himself. “I apologize if my naivety is a concern to you, but that is why I wish to learn. The banquet… I know it was not really meant for me, but it was still wonderful.”

“Yes, parlor tricks, wine, and amorous strangers.” Len trailed the tips of his claws down the front of his throne, watching Barry's body language and the way he bit his lip. “I bet you thought you were right at home like in the cellar of some sleazy tavern.”

“I have never frequented brothels, if that’s what you’re implying!” Even Barry's ears went red at that. “Your wizard said the same, but I am not like that.”

“It’s easy to pretend you like magic and mixed company when it’s a novelty instead of a way of life.”

“Knowing each other means putting aside assumptions, and you are making a lot about me.”

If that scarlet color was as real as it seemed, Len wondered how naïve Barry truly was. “So, tell me something. Convince me you’re more interesting than simply banishing you from my sight.”

There was something that sprang to Barry’s mind immediately, but he dismissed whatever it was from the depths of his eyes and emboldened himself with something else. “I told you my mother died. I was ten years old.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty-one.”

Maybe a rebel then. If his father was Prince Consort and only King as placeholder, then Barry was meant to marry within a year and take the throne. 

“Her death raised many suspicions,” Barry continued. “No one could explain it, and so, magic was blamed. But I never believed that. There was no evidence, people simply chose something they didn’t understand to be the scapegoat because they saw no other answer.”

“Your point?”

“I never jump to conclusions. Not about anyone or anything. I’m a scientist. I would have apprenticed as an alchemist right along with Cisco if I’d had the option. But I also love magic and believe it can’t be any eviler by default than alchemy. Nothing is evil by default, only by choice.”

A philosopher too, but that wouldn’t change anything.

Lurching up from his lounged position, Len took great enjoyment in the way Barry scrambled back as he began to lumber toward him. “You might be everything you claim to be, little prince. But your task here is also to convince me that releasing you won’t bring doom upon my kingdom.”

“When I am king—”

“You will still be at the mercy of your people.”

“I can sway them—”

“With what? What will your arguments be?”

Barry floundered, starting and stopping again many times, before giving up with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know, but that was why I asked to see you each day. I can only discover the answers by learning. I appreciate all the time you are willing to give me.”

Len could move upright like a man, but it was easiest on all fours with how large and changed his form had become. Regardless, he remained tall, looming over Barry. “You get until I notice your potion has begun to wear off. No longer. Why don’t we start with a walk?”

“W-walk?”

“So you can see my garden for yourself.”

Turning around, Len headed for the door to the right of his throne. When he reached it, he looked back to see that Barry had not yet moved.

“Well?”

Clambering forward, Barry showed commendable speed to catch up, long limbs flailing, and yet he was still somehow graceful. He must be an exceptional runner, not that princes had much to run away from unless during wartime.

Barry shivered as they moved into the passageway but showed no signs of ice crystals forming on his skin or clothes. Len had to hunch to traverse the corridors upright, knowing each path by heart as he led Barry through halls and down several stairscases, all paved in ice, toward the ground floor and a door to outside. 

It was early morning and late in the year, the sacrifice planned to have arrived the first day of Winter, and so today was the second, meaning that outside was just as cold as in Len’s chamber and very unchanged in temperature as they stepped out into the sun.

Barry was just as impervious to this cold as to Len’s with the potion in his veins, and he smiled as he tilted his head toward the light. “It was freezing following the caravan all those nights. How wonderful to be outdoors in Winter in nothing but a doublet and be this warm.”

Naïve, ignorant—but filled with wonder that made his lovely face light up like the dawn.

Len turned away before Barry could notice him staring. “I don’t feel the sun at all anymore.”

As Len moved down the familiar path, Barry detoured off the walkway into the dead grass, allowing him to get closer to Len’s side without slipping. “That sounds awful. You never feel warmth? Ever?”

“Tell me, little prince,” Len asked without stopping his progression down the path, “how could I? While I am made of ice?”

Barry gave no answer but followed quietly, beginning to look around and take in the grounds.

They had exited from the side of the castle. In spring, only Len’s path would be dead and frozen, the rest surprisingly lush with greenery that various people of the kingdom kept tidy. Over the years, more and more planting had begun. Now, even in winter, there were a few smatterings of color.

Barry gazed fondly at the bright yellow winter jasmine along the wall that dangled like ivy. Len was leading them along a purposeful path to look out beyond the castle, opposite the Emerald Kingdom, where Barry had likely never seen. There was a second gate there, not easily reached.

Len’s castle stood atop a hill like the song said, and out that gate was the path toward what once was the rest of his kingdom. He paused as they reached it and let Barry wander to the chilled bars that separated them from what lay outside.

“I always wondered…” Barry said, taking it all in—the sprawling city below that was desolate now, with collapsed houses and not even the scurry of animals, like a wasteland. “Only your castle was ever spoken of, but as grand as it is, it’s still only a court. What became of your people? Your original people?” He glanced back at Len.

Len stayed on the path, for if he drew closer to Barry, he’d inevitably lean out toward his empty legacy, and he did not wish to endanger the young prince.

Yet.

“Some left before I was cursed. The rest after. Beyond the city, further down the hill, you can see the start of the Mystic Valley. Some went there. Some to Emerald or to the Shadow Lands. Some beyond to lands unknown. No one stayed behind but my inner circle. We had many years alone before the story of the first sacrifice you heard last night.”

“He wasn’t really a sacrifice.”

“No, but he was the beginning.”

“And what of before then?” Barry insisted

Len held his head high, the shape of it formed together with his crown feeling forever heavy, but he did not answer.

“You’re not going to tell me what the curse is, are you? Not without effort.”

“You can see what it _is_ , little prince.” Len gestured at himself with one of his massive hands and at the trail of ice behind them. “But come now, we barely know each other to be spilling such intimate secrets.” With a grin, he moved on, expecting Barry to follow, which he did, and brought them around the side of the castle toward the front courtyard.

“You said some of your people escaped to the Mystic Valley,” Barry said, falling in beside Len again, “but the elves have been gone from there for centuries. It’s as abandoned as your city and farms.”

“Is it?” Len tilted his head, and when Barry’s brow furrowed, he laughed but didn’t elaborate.

Pushing forward, they reached the true garden of the center courtyard that had been well-kept by the people of the castle, though the fountain held no water this time of year. Len steered away from it, much as Barry looked at it in similar awe as he had the flowers, to bring them closer to the gate, where the other garden existed as upright sentinels to ward off any who entered uninvited.

Barry’s posture changed immediately, seeing the multitude of frozen figures like the thief Len had shattered in front of him.

“More unlucky cutthroats who didn’t realize where they were. And some who did, sent here like the others, but they chose to not belong.”

“Cisco said the same, that some of the criminals sent here deserved it.” While Barry held himself more stiffly being among so much glaring death, he walked unafraid through the statues, almost touching one before he pulled back.

“Does that assuage your guilt?”

“No.”

Len waited for Barry to return to his side before continuing. He had to make him understand, such a bold and foolish boy. “You’ve heard the story of our first offering, now hear the truth of our first death.”

Watching the way Barry’s face paled further, Len moved on down the path to the other side of the castle. His garden was not merely the guards past his gate but also figures lining the walkway along the right side since it better faced the Emerald Kingdom.

“She was a sacrifice, you see, after nearly a decade of people wronged, only hoping to find sanctuary. She tried to swindle me. _Me_. Swore allegiance, acted the part, and then, once she had gained our trust, she attempted to make off with trinkets she thought would fetch a nice price in the Shadow Lands and fled.

“On her way out of the castle, she stabbed a young elf who tried to stop her, gifted with beautiful magic, but he didn’t survive the depth of her blow. The thief didn’t get far, however. 

"How did you put it? _But down the Ice King came to feed_ …” he sang softly, haunting and low. “I swooped upon her like a storm. I knew what my touch would do, though I hadn’t seen the effects to a human yet. In that moment, I wanted to freeze every highwayman that had ever lived, every liar, everyone who thought they could claim their place and then simply be _out_.

“If she wanted out, then she was out. I caught her before she reached the gates and laid my hands on her without mercy. She froze on the spot… right here where I left her.”

Len saw Barry stumble, the boy not expecting to be brought before the subject of his story, yet there she was, untouched by time. Len rarely shattered statues, preferring to keep them as reminders, and nothing seemed capable of harming or chipping away at them other than him.

Her expression was preserved in mute shock, the trinkets she carried frozen with her in a bag at her side.

“Was I wrong?” Len asked, as he stopped in front of her.

“I... I don’t know,” Barry said. “I can’t say I ever agree with someone being killed. But you certainly seem to be the hero of your story.”

“I am no hero,” Len snapped, lunging toward Barry more closely than intended and causing him to stagger back. “That is not the lesson here. I earned my curse, but the people your kingdom sends to me did not. Even ones like her…” He glanced at her frozen body, remembering the sweet smile she’d afforded everyone in the castle, like she was a doppelganger of her own self once the truth was revealed. “I can’t say if she deserved her fate, but as I said—”

“You won’t hesitate to kill an enemy,” Barry finished. “But like I told you, majesty, I am not one. I believe all of this. You don’t need to frighten me. We can end this. Together. The sacrifices. Maybe even the curse. Just tell me. Tell me what caused it.”

What caused it… was that Len had proven to be the real monster of his kingdom, far worse than the jagged edges his body now displayed. He hadn’t killed or robbed or bedded anyone unwilling. He’d done worse.

Apathy was so much worse…

“Please.” Barry inched closer. “Do you think I can’t sympathize?”

Len fell to crunch down into the frost at his feet on all fours and leaned inches from Barry’s face. “I think you will realize that this curse cannot be broken and all you hope to accomplish will fail. When you can no longer deny that is true, you will see no other answer but my death. And I will not allow that to happen.”

“M-Majesty…” Barry shuddered from how close he was.

A small part of Len would have preferred to end this all now, before he had to once again be disappointed, but the sweet face before him… he didn’t want to see it frozen. “We’re done for today,” he said and turned to move back toward the castle.

XXXXX

Barry had the entire day ahead of him—but for at least an hour he didn’t move from the garden.

He walked back through the statues of ice, staring at each expression, at each look of terror or surprise, and understood why the Ice King didn’t believe him or his ambitions, but he couldn’t give up after only one day.

He hadn’t seen Cisco yet that morning. Maybe he could find him—

“Thinking of fleeing already, dear prince?”

The familiar teasing voice spun Barry around.

 _Shawna_.

Even in the bright light of morning, she wore dark colors, making her stand out starkly against the frost on the ground with her equally dark skin and black hair. Adornments hung from her ears, and her lips were painted a deep burgundy. She looked like the type of thief the Ice King had talked about, especially with a large knapsack thrown over her shoulder, yet she had proven herself welcoming and clearly had her place here.

“Please— _dear_ prince, _sweet_ prince, _little_ prince. Can someone just call me ‘Barry’?”

“Barry it is.” Shawna laughed, reaching him and giving his shoulder a firm smack like last night. “Still have some time left on your cold potion, _Barry_?”

“I think so.” Barry didn’t feel much chill, and Caitlin had said the potion should last for hours.

“Then come on.” She motioned him toward the gate, which Barry had assumed didn’t open much outside the acceptance of annual offerings, but apparently, he was wrong. “You said you wanted to earn your place, right? It’s my day to go foraging, and around here, no one leaves the castle alone. You’re coming with me.”

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, posting last week before my work trip (or from the plane, at least) did not pan out. I am SO glad I am home and finally had time to finish this. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your awesome support so far! I have a lot in store for you and am excited for how things amp up from here. ^_^ 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The Emerald Kingdom was to the south, the Mystic Valley further north down the opposite side of the Ice King’s hill, but Barry followed Shawna to the east toward a clearing and the edge of a thick wood that he knew would eventually join with the dark forest to the Shadow Lands.

He hoped the true sacrifice had made it there safely and that he hadn’t doomed them instead. The Shadow Lands were just as much a mystery as the Ice King’s castle.

Barry wasn’t sure what he and Shawna could possibly find for alchemy components while the ground was frozen with patches of snow on the ground. That’s what she was mostly foraging for, she’d said— _components_. Barry’s knowledge of alchemy was focused more on the mixing and application after ingredients were gathered. Cisco would know better what could be found in wintertime.

“You realize this is an enchanted castle, right, which includes the surrounding grounds,” Shawna said, smirking as she looked at Barry’s furrowed brow.

“Are you saying the plants here can withstand winter?” he asked.

“Some, and several things grow here that normally wouldn’t be found together. But a few useful items—rosemary, thyme, mint—they always thrive in winter.” She knelt a few yards from the line of trees, and indeed, several varieties of plants were clustered around their feet, green and lush and overlapping out of the snow. She began picking them with adept precision, taking string from her bag and bundling like plants together before filling the bag with her spoils.

After watching her for a few moments, Barry mimicked her efforts, and she smirked once more, inspecting his work with an approving nod.

“A prince who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Who knew?”

She worked twice as fast as Barry did, however, and occasionally, she’d toss a plant aside that didn’t look quite right to her eyes or tell Barry to lighten or fatten a bundle before completing it. She’d obviously done this many times before.

“Violets.” Barry pointed behind her, closer to the trees. “They’re good for sore throats, aren't they? Would Master Mark want those too?”

“Knowledgeable, are you? They’re on the list,” she said. “Though not for sore throats. They can be manipulated for other purposes. You won't see anyone from the castle getting ill, but we can be injured or killed.”

Enchanted indeed, Barry thought, though he mostly cared that he was continuing to learn about the castle, its curse, and its people.

They were essentially immortal as long as they didn't get hurt, and Barry would be too while he stayed there.

“Cisco said you knew alchemy, but I didn’t realize how much,” Shawna went on. “That’s rare around here. I have basic knowledge. Otherwise, it’s mostly Caitlin as our healer, and Mark with his enhancements and experiments. He’s a good wizard, but he’s blown up his lab a time or two as if a storm blew through it—pun intended.” She smiled fondly, like she knew him well.

“A true education involves rough hands and calculated risk,” Barry said with a fond smile of his own, looking at his dirt-smeared hands, wet from the snow. “My mother used to tell me that.” The memory of it brought a soft warmth to his chest. He’d grown beyond feeling a constant ache at the loss of her, but he still missed her every day.

He hoped she’d be proud of the risk he was taking now.

“I remember when the Emerald King announced her birth,” Shawna said absently, causing Barry to snap his attention to her, because he kept forgetting how much older everyone in the castle was compared to him, in some cases by quite a lot. “So that’s where all that red came from.” She reached out to muss his auburn hair, her hands wet and dirty too, yet the touch felt playful more than razzing.

Barry ducked his head anyway and blushed darkly. Cisco had been his only friend, and his father his only family. He wasn’t used to casual touch from others.

“She must have grown up well, considering you’re not so bad a bastard,” Shawna continued, returning to her work. “It was her father, you know, who decided three strikes as a thief was enough to call for one’s hands. Only a plea to be sacrifice could stay the butcher’s blade. I took my chances.” She waved her fingers at him.

 _The thief who almost lost her hands because she was starving_ … Barry recalled the Ice King saying. He hadn’t known his grandfather. That king died before Barry was born.

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “That’s awful. They don’t do that anymore. But then, thieves might still be chosen as sacrifice if they get enough voices raised against them. My mother did away with many barbaric practices, but she never dared change the larger laws.

“ _I_ will when I am king. I have to. Especially after meeting all of you.”

“That’s rather noble.” Shawna slowed the pace of her foraging again. “I’d think you were all fluff, but you don’t seem the type to be made for lying. Maybe you really aren’t so bad.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I’m not. Ending up here was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Cisco had said the same, and while immortality, food, shelter, and a caring monarch were reason enough to warrant such a response, Barry had the feeling that there was something more.

Soon, they had gathered everything they could from around their feet, and Barry went to the edge of the wood to pick the violets, while Shawna headed further down the clearing to shave off bark from a specific patch of trees with one of her blades.

He hadn’t noticed initially, but she was armed with twin daggers almost as long as short swords, with another simple hunting knife at her ankle. Barry felt the loss of his own dagger then, as well as the sword he might have brought along if this outing had been planned, but he’d left it in his room, knowing he’d be seeing the king.

It was in that moment, wondering about his promise to Axel to steal his dagger back, and glancing at Shawna using her hunting knife to chip away bark, that he heard the first growl.

Barry tensed, because that was no mere wild dog judging by the resonance, much as that would have been bad enough. Turning his head to look deeper into the wood, lush and dark despite the early morning sun, he saw a pair of eyes glowing and the measured steps forward of a wolf with a snarling maw.

“Back away slowly and don’t lose eye contact,” Shawna’s voice came steadily from his right. “Whatever you do, don’t turn your back on him.”

Barry knew that, but his instincts still told him to do the opposite and _run_.

Steeling himself with even breaths, he stood upright and began a slow shift backward into the clearing, keeping his eyes on the wolf—a _dire_ wolf, or at least it had been once. Its size was still impressive, but it looked emaciated.

It was alone, Barry realized. There were no signs of any other wolves, no pack it had come from, which explained its weakened state—weak enough to be ravenous and exceptionally feral.

A whistle rang out from Shawna to draw the wolf’s attention, but its eyes remained on Barry. He didn’t dare look at Shawna himself, but he could almost see her out of the corner of his eye, hunting knife and one of her daggers in either hand.

“I’m going to throw you a weapon, but he’ll probably leap the moment your eyes are off him.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Be ready. Try to defend more than harm. He’s only hungry.”

“Wait—”

“Now!” she cried, and Barry jerked his head toward her, arm already reaching to catch the dagger his eyes found and locked on, and a moment later he had it with a twist of his wrist and swipe forward just as the wolf lunged.

Its teeth caught the blade instead of Barry’s neck. If this had been a healthy dire wolf, Barry would have been helplessly bowled over, but he stood firm, pushing back on the blade until a great shove forced the wolf away from him. Barry swung the dagger around to slice at each of its legs, just enough to wound it, and then scrambled back to keep out of reach.

The cries the wolf made were pitiful, but the narrowing of its eyes was murderous as it readied to lunge again.

Shawna darted forward as fast as if she'd appeared from nothing, slicing first with the hunting knife, and then the dagger she’d replaced from the one she threw Barry. Shifting her grip after the wolf turned to her, she raised the blunt end of the dagger and rammed the hilt down into the wolf’s temple—who dropped like a drunk in a tavern at the end of a long bar fight.

Barry gasped, adrenaline pumping and weapon tight in his hand. He’d fought in the past, trained in multiple forms of combat, but he’d never had to fear for his life.

“Not bad. You know how to handle yourself,” Shawna said through panted breath.

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Then I already couldn’t have helped you.” She grinned, nimble fingers effortlessly twirling her dagger and knife before sheathing them. “But I still tried.”

Barry watched her kneel beside the fallen beast, recognizing how close he’d come to being rent in two without accomplishing anything of real note other than coming to the Frozen Kingdom to rescue his friend. Knowing Cisco was safe did not change that Barry was glad he’d fought to get here, but there was so much he hadn’t confessed to. So much he hadn’t done.

Shawna pulled a vial from her belt and tipped the liquid down the wolf’s throat.

“What is that?”

“A sort of healing draught. When he wakes, it’ll be as if he’s slept and eaten well for a week, his stamina entirely returned to him. What he does after that is up to him. After all, we don’t know his story or why he’s a lone wolf so far from friends.”

“Such mercy,” Barry noted, wondering if the numbness settling into his fingers was from his own draught wearing off or the grip he had on the dagger.

“It’s easy after being shown mercy yourself.” Shawna stood and came over to take the dagger back from him. “Funny how people work that way.”

“Most of the people in the castle didn’t act that way toward me.”

“Many of them are still angry, but while they may gnash their teeth, none would actually harm you. They just wanted to push you, see how you’d react. They trust their king. If he was willing to give you a chance, they will too.”

Barry wasn’t sure yet if he had been given a chance or merely a temporary stay of execution. 

“We get protective is all,” Shawna said, gesturing him up the hill, away from the wolf and the line of trees. She must have deemed their spoils enough—or it to risky to wait for the wolf to wake. “We’re family.”

Family. Lisa and the Ice King certainly, but the others too in more than blood.

Just without any children.

So many of the people in the castle were paired off, and while not everyone, it made the lack of children suddenly apparent, though Barry hadn't realized until now.

“If no one here ages… then children can’t be born either, can they?”

“One of the downsides. For some. I find it freeing. _Lots_ of worry-free sex.”

Barry tripped, face red and hot in an instant.

Shawna laughed but didn’t take back her statement.

“Y-you have someone too?” Barry stuttered. “I didn’t see you and Axel with anyone. Unless…”

“It’s not Axel,” Shawna said as though the idea was preposterous—and it certainly seemed to be from their lack of romantic chemistry. “Keep on as you are, Barry. You’ll discover all the castle’s secrets eventually.” Without elaborating further, she kept on up the hill, her bag full and her steps sure.

Barry's potion _was_ wearing off, he decided, as he shuddered beneath his doublet, wishing for a warm fire when they returned.

Shawna noticed. “There should be a cloak with your new clothes.”

“There is, but it's too short. Which is a shame, because it's lovely. I can use the one I came in. Though that was taken away to be cleaned…” He stopped short, thinking of his dagger again. “I’m not getting it back, am I?”

Another warm laugh bubbled out of Shawna. “I can take you to it later. Clean it yourself, and you might get to keep it. Does that mean you’re enjoying your new clothes?”

“Very much. The colors, the simple but flawless craftsmanship…” Barry returned to her side, picking at the brilliant blue and green of today’s garments. “I honestly think this is better than any of the frilly noblewear I’ve had to endure. And the quilt! Does everyone have a quilt like that? It’s like a rainbow of patterns and so warm.”

“Flatterer,” she said, opening the gate for them with an extra-wide smile. “I was rather proud of that one, but not everyone has a quilt yet. I started with the newbies and have been trying to backdate. Axel was a little jealous you got one before he did.”

Barry stood for several moments inside the archway before he realized what she meant. “ _You’re_ the tailor?”

“Not the only tailor, but I did make that doublet, the one you wore last night, and your quilt. Why? Do I not look like a tailor?” She planted her hands on her hips, which only accentuated the presence of her daggers.

“More like a…”

“A…?”

“A cutthroat,” Barry said honestly, not surprised when this seemed to please her.

“Then I haven’t lost my touch,” she said, spinning about to continue toward the castle—past the guardian ice statues that didn’t falter her steps in the least. “Come on. I’m not abandoning you yet. Time to deliver these components to our dear old Weather Wizard.”

The castle would still take Barry weeks to learn in full, but he memorized as best he could the path Shawna took him on to travel from the main doors to Master Mark’s laboratory. She explained that he had his own wing of the castle, partially for storage and experiments, but also to accommodate living quarters separate from others, like all the cursed had, as well as space for his apprentices to work.

Caitlin was beyond a mere apprentice now, really Mark’s second, standing in where he was limited by touch. Cisco was the one learning, while also proving more and more how capable he was, even more so with the magic he was being allowed to use for the first time in his life.

Much of the castle had high ceilings and open space, but Mark’s lab felt immediately stifling, like an overstuffed library, closed in by shelves filled with a combination of books, equipment, and messily labeled bottles of ingredients.

The smell was also… interesting, like bread and sour fruit. Once Barry saw the setup for fermentation, he realized why.

“Are you making ale and wine in here?”

“Barry!” Cisco exclaimed upon seeing him enter behind Shawna. He and Caitlin were huddled together over a cluttered worktable making a large batch of some potion or another in a cauldron, just like Barry had seen Cisco and Master Harrison do many times back home.

Mark was there too, though standing further back, choosing ingredients that he set on the end of the table for them to take or ordering their progress. “Where else did you think it came from?” he grumbled, sparking jolts of lightning off his body.

Barry hoped an errant spark wouldn’t have the same effect as his touch.

“Behave,” Shawna chided him. “I did your grunt work, _master_ , and I expect compensation.” She set her bag on another table, more out of the way along the wall.

“You let the prince help you?” Mark sneered, eyes glowing brightly like two pinpricks of stars in a night sky. “Am I going to be picking weeds out of those bundles?”

“Only what you’ll be picking out of your ass.” She extracted a bundle to show him, which easily could have been hers or Barry’s, since their finished work had ended the same. “Relax. He’s a good kid. Fended off a hungry dire wolf without getting so much as a scratch.”

“What?!” Cisco abandoned his work to rush over to Barry, causing Caitlin to scramble to pick up the slow stirring he’d been doing with a ladle, her lips pursed but silent like they’d been most of last night. 

“I’m fine,” Barry assured him. “Just a reminder to watch my back. _Outside_ if not in,” he added with a smile at Shawna—though Caitlin and Mark both shot him steely glares to remind him that he hadn’t won over everyone just yet.

“Did things go well with the king this morning?” Cisco asked, hurrying back to Caitlin to reclaim his ladle, which allowed her to add another ingredient to the bubbling pot.

“It didn’t go… terribly.”

Shawna snorted, and Barry wondered if she’d been watching long before she called for Barry to help her forage.

Looking over the ingredients more closely, Barry recognized everything that had been added to the pot, and when the wizard started straining juniper berries, he was certain of what they were making—a regeneration potion, similar to what Shawna must have given the wolf, but for slower-acting effects that replenished a person’s energy throughout an entire day.

It was strange seeing a being made of lightning handle, well, anything. Mark could clearly still hold things, and yet it almost looked as though the carafe the berries were in, their yellowed juice rife for use, merely floated amidst a tiny storm. As Cisco had said, however, because Mark did not wish to turn the pitcher to lightning, it and its contents remained.

Mark set the strained juice on the table, and Barry approached it, frowning in disapproval before Cisco or Caitlin could claim the container.

“You know, muddling juniper berries instead of infusing water with their juices allows for better sustained regeneration,” Barry said, “even for soldiers doing long patrols.”

Mark crackled, his fierce eyes shooting to Barry like he might fire a bolt at him.

“I-I swear! The difference in stamina is staggering. Cisco and I helped our Master Alchemist test it when we were teenagers.”

“I’ve tried telling him,” Cisco said quietly.

“And I’ve said no,” Mark snarled. “ _This_ is how we have always done this recipe.”

“Even with a second voice added, speaking the same logic?” Barry tried.

Mark gave a loud huff like a roll of thunder. “If it will shut you both up, fine,” he snapped, turning to retrieve a bundle of fresh juniper berries that he threw on the table beside the juice, along with a mortar and pestle. “I don’t need two of you nagging me. But if you know a thing or two, Emerald Prince, then you do the work.”

Barry did know a thing or two and held his ground, sliding the mortar closer to him and placing the berries inside. He mashed them swiftly with the pestle, breaking the skins and keeping them as part of the mixture to be added to the potion. The final product went down more thickly, but it did work better. 

“Cisco is a good teacher,” Barry said as he ground the berries. “Alchemy isn’t part of just anyone’s education, only if one chooses it, and I wanted to learn.”

“Barry is a quick learner.” Cisco smiled, still stirring the potion, a necessary step until everything was added. “He takes to alchemy like a natural more than almost anyone else in Emerald. Better than me, really. You’ll want him as my replacement before you know it, Master Mark.” 

Barry wouldn’t have said _that_ and blushed at the compliment.

Mark regarded him more carefully then, following his movements as he finished mashing the berries and added them to the cauldron in slow chunks while Cisco stirred.

“Any magical affinity?” Mark asked.

“I… I don’t know.”

Another crackle of lightning rose from him, and he pointed a sparking finger at Barry, drawing a design in the air that formed a visible rune, simply hovering there. Barry didn’t know what the rune meant, but he watched in awe at the way it glowed a brilliant red, and then pulsed away from Mark right at him.

Barry flinched, but the rune didn’t pass through him; it paused just in front of his chest and shone its soft red light all across Barry’s body. The light felt warm, like standing in a pool of sunshine, but when it faded, the rune turned grey and fizzled like falling ashes.

“Not an ounce,” Mark said in distaste—causing Barry’s chest to feel like that fallen rune, scattered into dust, though he’d never realized how much he might want to be magical, “which makes you useless.”

“Like _me_ , you mean?” Shawna said, arms tightly crossed as she stared him down from her perch beside the side table.

If a demon made from the eye of a storm could look like a child caught doing something naughty, then Mark managed it with a ripple of light across his features. “You’re skilled in other ways.”

“Not ways you’ll be experiencing any time soon.”

Mark crackled again, and Barry’s face burned hotter than before. They were definitely close if she could tease him like _that_.

The air charged, the silence as static as Mark himself. Barry looked to Cisco and Caitlin for reprieve, but they were distracted by the final steps of the potion, adding the last few ingredients and then—poof, a cloud of purplish smoke billowed up as if a person was inside puffing on a pipe. Cisco ceased his stirring, and Caitlin moved off to get several vials for them to fill.

Barry tried to take the second ladle she returned with, but she ignored him and kept it for herself. She still hadn’t spoken to him directly since showing up with Mark in his room yesterday. Leaving more cold resistance potions outside his door had helped her avoid him yet again.

“Did you have magic, Master Mark?” Barry asked for something to fill the air other than smoke and distrust. “Before the curse, I mean?”

“All elves have some magical ability,” came his reply, eyes remaining on Shawna. “I was the king’s wizard long before I became this.”

An _elf_. Barry hadn’t realized, but as he looked at Mark now, he saw the lightning forming long points at the end of his ears in perfect outlines of the real thing.

“Magic simply means learning to harness the power within you so that alchemy isn’t necessary to cause the same results. I can cast a spell that has the same effect as one of these potions, but it takes a toll, has a price, energy that needs to be replenished. Understand? That is magic, though there are a few exceptions, people who have special abilities unique to them that may or may not have a similar cost. Like Cisco.”

Barry edged around the table, moving cautiously closer to Mark. The Emerald Kingdom only taught its people to fear magic, not how it worked. “Do you have one? A unique ability?”

The bite to Mark’s gaze softened as he looked at Barry and could find nothing but genuine interest. “In the spring, when it’s been too long without rain, let’s just say… sometimes there is a sudden storm.”

The thought of all that power made Barry light up with excitement. Control over weather. That explained why he’d become lightning. “How wonderful.”

Mark’s answering expression might have been a matching smile.

“See,” Shawna said. “I told you he was a good kid.”

Mark shifted, like he’d once again been caught doing something he didn’t want others to see, but his crackles dimmed, and the comradery between him and Shawna bloomed once more as easily as the awkwardness had withered it before.

These people weren’t monsters—not the king’s court or those who had been sent here. The elementals were frightening, the Ice King most of all, but whatever their curse, even the king was more than what he seemed.

Like with Mark, there was just something about… Len, something soft and entrancing within his jagged, frozen lines, that Barry swore he would suss out.

His eyes proved it.

_Blue eyes in a sea of…_

A jolt of anxiety shot up Barry’s spine at the thought, as if he’d been struck by Mark’s lightning after all. The old vision couldn’t mean… _him_. It just meant here. Didn’t it? Either the love Barry had for Cisco being as close to true love as he’d ever know, or… if romance was still in his future, maybe with someone else within these walls. The idea that it could mean the Ice King himself was preposterous!

But it made Barry really want to discuss it with Cisco.

“Cisco, do you have time to talk—”

“He’s working,” Mark said shortly, though perhaps a touch less menacing than before. “You did your duty, now go bother someone else. Collecting these potions is delicate work, as I’m sure you know, if you’re so knowledgeable.”

“I can meet up with you later, Barry,” Cisco said without taking his eyes off the careful ladling of potion into one of the many vials. “We can have lunch. I’ll meet you in the hall at noon.”

“Okay…” Barry said in disappointment.

“Let’s leave these wily wizards be.” Shawna moved from her vigilant post, leaving her bag on the table. “We have laundry to attend to. Or did you plan to skip that part of today’s labor?”

Barry felt marginally better about being here, having gotten a little on Mark’s good side and being productive, even if Caitlin still wouldn’t meet his gaze. And he did appreciate Shawna being his unofficial guide. “I’ll help,” he said dutifully. 

“Don’t worry,” she added, patting his back as she often did, firm but affable. “Mark’s only 95% asshole.”

“Shawna…” Mark called as she tugged Barry toward the exit, an audible crackle resounding through the room this time.

“Later, Weather Wizard!” she called back and kept on going.

Barry could ask about the vision later—the old vision, not the more recent one that Cisco was unwilling to talk about. Barry knew there were more important things than his love life, but oh, wouldn’t it be something to finally know another man’s touch? If ever he was going to find love, it had to be here.

 _“You’re safe here, Barry,”_ Cisco had said. There were others like him in this castle, many others, who loved without fear.

Barry tried to pay attention to the route Shawna took him on to better map the castle, but his thoughts strayed—especially when he caught the attention of a passing elf. Most people he came upon cast him wary glances or had avoided him so far, but this tall, lanky figure smiled like he hardly knew how not to, handsome in a pointy-featured sort of way, with dark hair and red and purple accents in his clothes.

As Barry and Shawna moved past him up another set of stairs, Barry couldn’t help but keep looking at the elf, who scanned down Barry’s body with a stretch to his smile and funny wiggle to his nose—and then winked.

Barry slammed into the banister, whirling his head around to grab onto it and keep from flipping over the railing and dropping the very long distance down to the main floor. Shawna didn’t notice, but when Barry glanced back at the elf, he was still smiling.

 _Wouldn’t it be something?_ Barry thought again—as long as it didn't cause him to plummet to his death.

Looking away from the elf with his face flushing, Barry hurried after Shawna to catch up with her. Although the elf’s grin had been attractive, all Barry could think was…

He didn’t have blue eyes.

XXXXX

“Geez, even I feel the chill today,” Mick’s voice echoed off the ceiling of Len’s chamber, drawing his attention from the spot on the wall he’d been staring at while lounging on his throne.

Mick moved from the entrance like flames eating up dry wood in an impossible to stop wave, yet since his feet didn’t touch the ground, he didn’t so much as singe the floor or melt any ice. They didn’t know if they could be affected by each other’s touch, but they’d never dared test it to find out.

“What are you sulking for? Thought the pretty princeling would be yacking your ear off.”

“I sent him away for today.” Len kicked his legs over the arm of his throne.

“Already? That bad of company? At least he’s a better view than this shithole.”

Ages ago—literally now—when Len first chose his court, Mick was the only non-noble, a soldier who’d proven himself and become Len’s friend. Len didn’t care how the choice had been sneered at by the high-born, because he knew Mick was the best man to lead his army and protect his castle, crass or not. Tactlessness meant he never hesitated to speak his mind, something Len valued.

Usually.

“The view will be short-lived. He’s young and idealistic and thinks he can change the world with nerve and good intention.”

“Classic fool then. Still pretty.” Mick was only harping on that to annoy Len. Mick liked pretty things too, but not usually men.

“Worry about the fire in your own loins and stay out of the business of mine.”

“What business?” Mick pulsed red-hot flames as he stood at the foot of the throne’s steps. “I don’t see any _business_ at the moment.”

Len clenched his fists with an icy creak, kicking his feet down again with a crunch into the frozen pedestal beneath him. They were all sexless in these forms but hardly devoid of wanting. But Len’s anger couldn’t last, and he let his tension go again. “He’s pretty. He’s not worth futile dreaming.”

Long, meaningful talks weren’t Len and Mick’s way, but every so often, Mick was one of few who truly pushed him. “Let’s get rid of the prince quicker then. He’s all set to play champion. How about I put a little scare into him? See if the princeling can fight. Get Oliver to help for some early morning yard training tomorrow.” A menacing grin flickered across his face. “The good fletcher will jump at the chance after that song last night.”

Len had expected a different suggestion, but that had him mirroring Mick’s grin, fire and ice in warring parallel, though he still wondered at his friend’s motives. Regardless, if there was a way to break Prince Barry of his foolish notions, this might be a start. “Do it. If he wants a crusade, let’s see how he battles.”

Mick gave a slightly mocking and mischievous bow before turning to leave, though not without adding, “And do something today, will ya? You're not a damn cat.”

Len kicked his feet over the arm of the throne again just to spite him. Thinking _was_ doing something. He was strategizing! Admittedly, normally this time of year, he'd be watching the new sacrifice with an eagle’s eye until there was no doubt whether they belonged.

The prince should not be an exception.

“Hartley!” Len called, swinging his legs around once more to get to his feet.

“Yes, majesty?” Hartley popped into existence at Len's side. He might honestly always be watching, lurking wherever he pleased, but whether he was hiding in a nearby corner or on the other side of the castle, he always heard Len—he heard everything—and could appear in moments.

Every court needed a Steward, but Len understood that anyone who ran a castle was obviously more than a mere butler. _Spymaster_ was more accurate even before Hartley’s hearing and mobility became supernatural. He'd been a noble but was tossed aside when his family discovered he had no interest in carrying on the family line.

Len had snatched him up immediately. The fact that the disrespectful brat hated the idea of bowing to anyone only made Len like him more, especially once he discovered what an ear Hartley had for gossip.

“Where's the prince?” Len asked.

“Getting his hands dirty—or should I say _clean_ —helping with the washing.”

“He's doing the washing?” Once again, Barry surprised him, and Len couldn't decide if that irritated or intrigued him.

“Took off his doublet even,” Hartley said with a whistle. “Very fetching, that prince.”

“Not you too.” Len scowled.

The translucent nature of Hartley’s form was eerie to some, but it only reminded Len that he had nothing solid to swat at, just the faint outline of a young man, looking well-dressed and smug. “I’m enjoying the view for my own sake,” he said, floating leisurely in front of Len like a low-hanging cloud. “You can do as you like.”

“Won't your playmate get jealous?” Len leaned threateningly into his face. “You’re not the only one who can spread whispers.”

“Enjoying a view won’t get me in trouble.” Hartley leaned boldly back at him. “And don’t pretend like you haven’t been stealing peeks. I’ll just do some rounds about the castle now.” He pushed back like kicking off the edge of a pond, still grinning. “You know, through your _spy_ tunnels. Though I’m sure you won't be going anywhere near them.”

Before Len could snark back at him, Hartley poofed away—the _little shit._ He could very well still be right there, but that didn't stop Len from turning toward his tunnels, even if he did hear giggles following him.

He'd ended his time with Barry early; the least he could do was see what he was up to.

The washing room was in the cellar, with a large basin fit for half a dozen people to encircle it around a large water pump. Len knew exactly how every machination in his castle worked, but much of the ingenious additions had come after the curse, created by the people sent here, whether through magic, engineering, or both.

The pulley system and rows upon rows of line above those doing the washing allowed each person to hang their finished garments without moving and then send them aloft. Prince Barry was among them, a seventh to the usual six, given room by Shawna, who stood just off his shoulder. Barry knew how to scrub and rinse and ring, but the pulley system was clearly a fascination for him, a smile lighting up his face whenever he used it just like with the feel of the winter sun on his skin earlier.

Everyone in the castle rotated a spot as washer throughout the week. It was the sacrifice’s job to be added to a shift their first day, but Len had never seen anyone excited by it.

The other five in attendance were a mixed bag of older and newer offerings, including an elf, nearing one hundred and fifty years here now, who’d created that pulley system and improved it over time. He got enthusiastic every year on the night of the offering, eager to meet someone new, but he’d remained quiet last night upon discovering that Barry was the Emerald Prince.

Now, he looked eager and enamored like usual.

“It’s really very simple,” he said with a shrug, seated beside Barry.

“But at such scale!” Barry exclaimed. “Look at how many clothes it can handle, and barely a drop on any of our heads while they dry. It’s marvelous! I’m sorry… what was your name again?”

“Wynn,” the elf replied brightly, holding out a slightly wrinkled hand from the washing—even though it had been another Emerald Prince who discovered the glamour hiding his ears so many years ago and banished him to the Frozen Kingdom. “It’s nice to meet you, Barry.”

“You too.” Barry took his hand, beaming just as brightly.

Even the veterans were falling for Barry’s charms, like he looked at the whole world seeing rainbows behind his eyes. That was easy though for a well-fed royal who’d never had anything to fear. Even in this castle, surrounded by people who should be his enemies, Barry believed he was in no peril.

 _Naïve. Ignorant._ Len kept thinking those same slights, yet he was drawn to Barry and watched raptly from his hidden corridor as the prince worked just as hard as anyone else and made quick friends of everyone around him.

“Looks like that cloak of yours has a ripped seam.” Shawna nodded upward at the traveling cloak hanging with the other drying clothes—deep purple, edged in gold-colored stitching, and lined in thick tan fur. It was beautiful, but there was an obvious tear near the clasp at the collar. “I can fix it for you once it’s dry.”

“I can sew,” Barry said proudly. “I don’t mind mending it myself. But maybe you can show me how you would do it. I’m sure your techniques are better given these garments.” He indicated the shirt he wore, his doublet folded up nearby, as Hartley had said.

With his sleeves rolled up, the emerald green shirt brought out his eyes even more deeply, and his forearms strained with taut young muscle as he worked.

Fetching indeed, especially with his front laces untied to reveal the line of his collarbone.

Len saw the people around the basin sitting closest to his spying wall give inopportune shivers, and he pulled back, realizing he’d gotten too close and had pressed a hand to the stones, causing them to frost over. If any of those who’d felt the cold realized what the chill meant, none paid any mind.

“My mother taught me how to sew,” Barry continued, “and I always mend my own clothes if it’s simple enough. I’d hoped to learn weaving eventually too and more refined stitching because… well, it’s fun, isn’t it? Having something new and interesting to wear, especially if you made it yourself? Cisco likes tailoring too.”

“I didn’t know that,” Shawna said in surprise. “Once Mark found out he’d been an alchemist’s apprentice, he stole him away from anyone else. I’ll have to conscript him sometime. You as well.”

Barry flashed his lovely white teeth at her over his shoulder—and then hissed as he scraped a shirt down the washing board. Len thought it was because a knuckle had missed the barrier of the fabric, but when Barry pulled his hand from the water, there was a cut that had to have been made from something else.

“I guess the wolf got me after all.”

_Wolf?!_

“We have supplies down here,” Wynn offered, rising from his work to head quickly toward a row of shelving along the wall. “Let me wrap that for you.”

“I won’t be able to help then,” Barry protested. “It’s not so bad.”

“Listen to him,” Shawna huffed. “Fended off a dire wolf his first day and taking it in stride.”

_Dire wolf?!_

The closer row of washers shivered again. Len needed to stop leaning in.

But thank goodness Shawna had been with Barry. Len still wanted to see the prince’s fighting skills, but it appeared he had a way of averting the danger snapping at his heels.

“Yet you only got that small scratch after leaving it alive.” Wynn shook his head as he gathered some ointment and bandages, obviously having heard the tale before Len arrived. “Don’t fret, Barry. If you’d still like to help, you can switch to gathering up the dry items. Everything gets folded and placed on top of these shelves, and anyone waiting on clothes pick them up themselves. Easier than remembering who wears what.”

Wynn sat with Barry, attending to his wound as if they’d known each other for years, which was saying something for an elf who was so much older than he looked. Almost everyone here was older than they looked and set in their ways. Too often Len felt his two hundred plus years compared to the young king he’d been when his life changed.

“Did you build anything else in the castle?” Barry asked Wynn with an earnest scoot closer.

Excitement and new things to learn and be enchanted by were what made age irrelevant. Len saw it in Wynn’s face as he explained the plumbing and various machines throughout the castle that he’d created. Shawna looked the same. The others did too, just from watching Barry listen and engage with fervor.

It had been a very long time since Len felt the age he’d lost.

Before long, more time had passed than Len intended, and Barry headed to the hall for lunch. Len wasn’t surprised to see him meet up with Cisco, though Shawna and Wynn joined them as well, along with a few others from the washing room.

Len couldn’t tear himself away, following Barry from one part of the castle to another. Though others went their separate ways for their own daily tasks, Barry stayed with Shawna, taking his cloak to the tailoring room. His excitement never seemed to fade, entering the spacious chamber covered in fabric and various things being made or mended, and he made friends there too. He was far from being deterred by the few cold shoulders or distrustful glances he received like Len had initially imagined.

“What are you doing?”

Len flinched, a burst of icy wind pulsing from his body.

Lisa stood in the corridor behind him with her delicate arms crossed and a golden eyebrow raised.

“What I always do when someone new enters the castle.”

“Lies,” she dismissed. “You watch some, yes, but not like this. You trust your people. You trust me and your court to let you know if anything is amiss. You’re supposed to be taking audiences with the prince, not prowling.”

At least she was keeping her voice low, but Len still slid the stone from his spying spot back into place as he turned to her. “Our audiences will resume tomorrow. I wasn’t in the mood this morning.”

“He’s getting to you already? I’ll have to get to know him better then. Maybe tonight.”

“No.” Len stomped toward her. “You know the rules. And make sure everyone else holds to them as well. Not at night. Not yet.”

“Please, Lenny. None of your people would dare betray our secrets before the designated time. Two weeks for anyone new.” She rolled her eyes, finishing with a mockery of Len’s voice, “Only then can they prove trustworthy.”

Two weeks was bare _minimum_. Lisa pushed for only one once, but that first frozen statue on the lawn… she’d been in the castle six long days before her betrayal.

A week wasn’t enough.

“I’m allowed vigilance,” Len said.

“You like him.”

“I’m keeping my eyes on him.”

“Because you like him.”

“Because I’m concerned and waiting for the axe to strike!”

If possible, Lisa’s gold eyes rolling at him showed even more exasperation than her original blue. “Prowl away then. I think I’m going to go help the tailors.” She turned to head down the corridor that could exit her right outside the tailoring room’s door.

Len bristled, but then promptly removed the stone again to watch her knock and go inside, keeping her distance of course, but engaging Barry pleasantly—too pleasantly—and even daring to glance wickedly over at Len with a wink.

She often spent time in the tailoring room, inspecting the newest creations, but she was still an awful traitor. She looked as sincerely enamored with Barry as everyone else, however, when he asked if she’d ever tried making gold thread.

Len could only watch for so long with his sister there, goading him, but after leaving Barry alone, he eventually wondered where he was again, and found him at dinner time back in the hall. Axel and Caitlin had joined the group, Caitlin the only one who remained frosty toward the prince. Those who had yet to cross his path kept their distance, but more and more people were treating him like one of their own.

Len and the other court members didn’t go to the banquet hall outside the welcoming ceremony—not until the grace period lifted. If the offering proved to truly belong after two weeks, then they were brought into the fold, not before.

Barry was swindling everyone after only one day.

It had to be a swindle. Only charlatans won people over this quickly.

Cisco knew him though—a commoner, best friends with a prince. It did make Len wonder. After dinner, the pair went to Barry’s room, merely sitting on his bed, talking about their day as any true friends would.

The sun had set, but Len barely noticed, until he shivered as he stood watching from the same spot he had last night.

“Did you want to talk about something earlier?” Cisco asked. “Something specific?”

Barry glanced away, a rare glimpse at when he could be caught off guard. “It’s nothing. I mean… it’s everything, but I think I’ll go mad if I try to figure out your visions.”

Cisco nodded, understanding whatever was left unsaid with a thin smile.

What visions did the fortune teller have of Barry, Len wondered. It couldn’t all be a swindle if the boy who could see the future loved him.

“What I can tell you, Barry,” Cisco took Barry’s hands, a gesture, such easy touch, that they enacted often, “is I think you’re right. This is where you’re meant to be.”

Barry nodded in kind, smiling back at him and making Len even more curious about what they were talking about.

After another quick squeeze of Barry’s hands, Cisco rose. “I’m off to bed.”

“Already?” Barry blinked in surprise.

“I… had a long day.”

Len huffed. He knew that wasn’t the real answer, but Barry didn’t notice the deflection.

“What about breakfast?” Cisco offered.

“Oh, I think I’ll grab something early again. I’m not letting the king banish me so quickly tomorrow.”

_Optimist._

“Good luck,” Cisco said.

While Barry’s brightness never fully dimmed, he was noticeably sadder, sitting there alone after Cisco left, but that only rooted Len more firmly to his spot. He tried to pinpoint what it was about Barry that kept captivating him.

Barry was all the things Len had told Mick earlier—young, idealistic, foolhardy in his confidence that he could set things right, whatever the cost. He was also beautiful and warm and had charmed a few dozen members of Len’s kingdom today.

At first, Len thought it was because Barry so obviously didn't belong, the curiosity of the unknown in an outsider, but he’d certainly put in effort to belong here, and every so often, Len would see a shadow in Barry’s eyes that said he might belong more than first guessed.

What was that shadow that had darkened the young prince’s life like the others sent here were darkened? Merely guilt? His mother’s death? Or something more?

As Len continued to watch, Barry inspected the work done on his cloak, half sewn by Shawna and half by him, and hung it and the other cleaned garments he’d worn when he arrived at the castle inside his wardrobe. It was early, but although Barry looked toward his door a time a two, as if debating going out to explore or find some of his new friends, he eventually chose to go to bed.

Tonight, there were lanterns and candles still lit that he didn’t snuff out before undressing. As soon as his trousers came down, Len lowered his eyes, but it was difficult not to look through his periphery at the much clearer view of the young man’s leanly muscled form.

It was when Barry settled but still left the bedside candle lit that Len looked up again.

The covers weren’t pulled all the way to his chin, only enough to cover his nakedness, as he tilted his head back on his pillow and let a hand drift down his chest beneath the quilt.

Len looked away again. He couldn’t watch _that_. He couldn’t be _that_ sort of deviant. Yet as much as he knew now was the time to walk away, to head back to his rooms and stop obsessing over this young, alluring prince, the sound of Barry’s breath catching froze his feet to the floor.

Barry’s plaintive noises quickly grew from mere pants to whines. Even if his voice hadn’t sounded so needy, the rustle of cloth against the back of his hand as he kept it beneath the covers would have made it clear what he was doing.

It had been so long since Len had touched someone, and this prince was something special but dangerous that shook him to his core and made him wonder what it might be like to melt.

“Please…” Barry whimpered, with that lone candle castling flickers across his skin that kept prompting Len to truly look. “Oh please… let me find him.”

Len did look up then—a startled glance, he couldn’t help it—and stared at Barry’s flush face, green eyes clenched tight and teeth digging into his bottom lip.

 _Him._ What nameless, faceless figure did Barry conjure when he touched himself?

The covers folded back with a frantic toss, the sudden sight of Barry bare, showing more hints of red in his auburn, making Len feel flush too. He couldn’t look away, seeing how Barry stroked with such desperation, no shame, at least none obvious beyond initially keeping himself covered. He wanted release, and all his blushing and insistence that he’d never frequented a brothel made Len certain that Barry had never known any touch but his own.

And why he never had definitely had more to do with that elusive ‘him’ than bashfulness.

Barry’s back arched, knees crooking up and hand moving faster, like a vibrating blur, and just as his voice became a bitten back cry, he finished, collapsing exhausted on the bed.

Len never spied like this. Never had. Never once.

He wondered if Hartley ever did…

Tonight was yet another reason why Len was the wicked thing people thought of him. He wasn’t exactly what they thought, but he was wicked, no matter how loved he might be by his people.

He coveted what had been lost to him, what once he would have sought out, and having it bared before him like that made him simultaneously envious, angry, and so hungry for Barry, he could have pushed right through the wall. 

He didn’t. He cast his eyes down in shame, finally tearing them away as Barry rose on shaky legs to clean himself. He heard more than saw Barry rinse the cloth he used in the wash basin and then crawl under the covers once more, this time blowing the candle out.

“Whoever you are, my love,” Barry whispered one final plea, “I hope I find you here.”

Len stood for a long time, rooted to that same spot, after replacing the stone to hide Barry from view, before he headed down the corridor to his rooms. Once again, he wondered if he could hear Hartley’s faint giggle at his expense—or maybe that was merely fate.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying. ^_^ Thank you to everyone following this one.

That night, Barry slept with straying dreams of blue eyes, handsome smirks, and broad muscled shoulders of no man in particular—but oh his phantom figure could touch and kiss and hold him too tightly like he’d always wanted. He found himself half-awake as the sun rose, hard and leaking fresh sin onto his sheets. He would have let a straying hand drift between his legs again like last night, but not when he had somewhere to be.

He mixed a black shirt and black trousers with his scarlet doublet, and today, he affixed his sword belt before taking his daily draught to face the king.

His treks with Shawna through the castle had taught him a few new routes, so he took a shortcut to make his way to the kitchen, swiped meat and a chunk of bread that one of the workers he’d befriended in the tailoring room allowed with more of a smile than yesterday, and then took another new route toward the king’s staircase.

On this path, he passed a row of paintings, some of landscapes and animals, but others of well-dressed nobles. Former royalty, he supposed. He came to a glaringly empty spot on the wall before reaching the last of an elegant brunette woman with sharp blue eyes. It took him a moment of staring at her remarkable beauty to realize that, while the hues had changed, the face remained.

Lisa.

“I hated sitting for that portrait.”

Barry spun around, surprised yet again by a court member, always so good at sneaking, given that their feet didn’t touch the ground. “Princess.” He bowed his head. “You are as lovely now as you were then.”

“Lisa,” she reminded him, floating closer, but not too close. She was truly ravishing in monochrome gold, but the painting added depth that she clearly missed as she gazed upon her portrait. “And you’re sweet. It’s a wonder this ever got painted. I get restless sitting still. Lenny too. Even when he lounges like a contented cat, he’s always shifting or fidgeting his hands.”

That drew Barry’s eyes to the empty space where another painting might have hung. “Are there no portraits of the king?”

“None that survived.” She turned to him, offering a melancholy smile. “He won’t look at himself anymore, who he used to be. To him, he’s only the monster.” She gestured down the corridor for them to walk together. “You’re getting to him though. I can tell.”

“It didn’t seem that way yesterday.” He’d barely had the king’s ear for half an hour.

“Give him time.”

There were other members of the castle up and about, but not many, giving them solitude to speak, yet there was only one thing on Barry's mind as the puzzle remained unfinished. “Lisa... would you tell me about the curse?”

She faltered in her gentle floating at his side. “You’ll have to get the story from Len if you want to win him over. Some things will reveal themselves in time. What I’m sure I don’t need to tell you is that he blames himself, but we all deserved what became of us.”

Ice and gold, the royals of this cursed kingdom were both made of seemingly unfeeling things, yet they lived as vibrantly as anyone, and neither was truly cold, not even King _Len_ for all his attempts to act that way.

They were sad more than anything, and for that, Barry wished he could reach out and place a comforting hand on Lisa’s arm.

“He said he earned the curse,” he said as they began winding up the staircase he’d climbed many times now. “Thinks he’s a villain.”

“The king before, our father, he was the real villain, a true tyrant, but his reach was vast, greater than Emerald or the Mystic Valley at their heights. Our kingdom is only this castle now but growing again, almost more than we can contain within these walls, and we’re happy here with what we have.

“We’re not heroes, Barry, but I like to think we’re not villains either.”

“And before?”

A sigh passed her golden lips, accompanied by a faintly derisive chuckle. “We might as well have been a gallery of rogues.”

While each member of the court was unconventional in their role compared to what Barry was used to, he didn’t think any of them roguish.

But then, just as they reached the door to the Ice King’s chamber, Hartley appeared to block their path, causing Barry to lurch backward and wonder if at least one member was a rogue.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, grinning without remorse, though he kept a safe distance, no real threat that Barry would run into him. “The king would like to take today’s audience with Prince Barry in the back courtyard.”

“You mean the training yard,” Lisa said with a frown.

“Same thing.”

“What is Lenny plotting?”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine. But he did say he’d prefer that I show the young prince the way.”

The Ice King was getting rid of Lisa, the only member of the court who’d been truly kind to Barry. Mark had seemed tolerant yesterday but not exactly friendly, and the rest… well.

Barry didn’t trust the look on the Spymaster’s face.

“If he gets hurt, whoever does the maiming will answer to me,” Lisa said fiercely, her golden sheen practically glowing as she projected the same aura of authority that her brother commanded so well—not that it softened use of the word ‘maim’. “Don’t worry, Barry,” she shifted seamlessly to benevolent princess, “he simply hopes to test you and push you into a corner. You push him right back.”

That was Barry’s whole intention of taking audiences with the king—to push him and learn everything he could so that they’d come to an understanding and end this division between kingdoms. If he could take knowledge back home that could help sway the hearts of his brethren to be more accepting of the things they feared, all the better.

Still, he was glad he’d worn his sword belt that morning.

“Perhaps I’ll see you in the tailoring room.” Barry smiled at Lisa with another bow of his head. “I’d love to discuss more uses of gold thread.”

“An eye for fashion and pleasant to look at.” She smiled back. “Don’t you let any of the castle’s brutes best you, Barry. Be a rose, like me—soft and lovely, with sharp edges to sting anyone who wrongs you.”

Barry could sting better than most expected of him, but her words helped lift his head higher as he followed Hartley along another path, deeper than he’d been before and back on ground level to a door leading behind the castle.

More people bustled about, but with Barry trailing behind Hartley, they all seemed to be laughing at him.

“Should I be worried?” he asked of the wisp, who stayed visible but was still mostly translucent.

“Always.” Hartley peered over his shoulder with an ominous grin. “Just a shame that if they scratch that pretty face, I can’t patch you up personally.”

Barry halted, though he could see the door they were headed toward. The Ice King was the only member of the court with human eyes to know their true color. The rest all matched their element, so Hartley’s were a milky grey.

He felt a cold sweat come on wondering if they’d been blue when Hartley was human.

“Not used to being an object of desire, pretty prince?” Hartley floated back to him, so close that Barry would have known his true eye color if they were more than mist. Barry was drawn to broader men, and Hartley was slight like Cisco, but he was handsome in his own way, slender and impish.

“Wh-whose desire?’ Barry stuttered.

“A little daft, are you? Or only interested in ripping bodices?”

“ _No_ ,” Barry blurted, but then years of training to not admit such things made him fumble to correct himself. “I-I mean, I… _have_ desires, but I’d rather not rip anything over them.”

“Hmm… that’s no fun.” Hartley winked.

If Barry had a banister before him, he would have plowed into it again. He felt faint, like the floor had dropped beneath him. How did someone become so free that they could express their desires like that?

“I-I-I… um…” He had no idea how to follow suit.

“Goodness, you're a mess. We’ll have to work on opening you up.” Hartley grinned again, and Barry felt his cheeks set on fire, completely mute for a response, when the imp blessedly returned forward.

He envied Hartley’s boldness, but he didn't think _he_ could be his love.

Willing his cheeks and heartrate to calm, Barry had the distinct impression that he was walking into a trap. He itched to grip the handle of his sword but didn’t want to appear combative. His tune changed quickly once he got outside.

Combat was clearly what they had in mind, because all the large, imposing members of the castle were in attendance, the soldiers and mercenaries for hire who’d been sent there—including the fletcher, the first sacrifice.

He may have been noble once, but he was a solid pillar of muscle now.

Hartley couldn't be the one; this type of figure stirred Barry's passions much more.

And he had blue eyes.

He also had a woman, Barry reminded himself, spotting her pretty, bespectacled face behind the figure of the blond and bearded fletcher. Barry needed to focus on more pressing concerns—like the sword in the fletcher's hand.

“I hear you can sew and wash and mix potions,” the crackle of a gruff voice spoke, drawing Barry’s eyes to the sidelines where Master Mick stood beside the Ice King with a flaming sword. “I also hear you fended off a dire wolf. A future king must be skilled in many things, including how to fight.”

“I can fight.” Barry stood proudly, allowing his hand to touch his hilt now. He was barely much distance from the door, but space had been cleared for him and the fletcher, dummies and weapon stands spread about the perimeter of the yard with the watchers forming a circle, and the cursed in their own fantastical line that Hartley joined.

“Then show us,” the Ice King said.

Barry had a short sword. The fletcher had a longsword—no, _greatsword_ —that he clearly could have wielded in one hand but slowly gripped in two. Barry didn't feel the chill from the frost-covered ground or crisp winter air, but despite the fletcher being without his shirt, showing a swath of scars and tattoos, he gave no sign that he felt the cold either, and Barry had a feeling it was without any potion.

Cautiously, he moved forward and drew his short sword to a smattering of laughter when they saw its size.

“You're welcome to select a more suitable weapon,” the fletcher said with his thin, appraising smile, squaring his stance and circling Barry.

“I haven't mastered wielding anything heavier.” When he tried, it unbalanced him, his strength refusing to grow beyond its peak.

“I can teach you how to handle a larger sword!” Hartley called, and the laughter roared again.

Fighting a return of the flush cheeks with so many eyes on him, the king’s most heavily, Barry scanned for friendly faces in the crowd. He saw no one he'd gotten to know yesterday, not even Shawna, but then his eyes fell on Axel.

He did have a friend here.

“Knock his block off, Fletcher!” Axel cried.

Or not.

There was a chaotic energy about Axel, certainly, though his uncharacteristic snarl seemed to be directed at Hartley for some reason more than Barry, with furtive glances passed between them.

“May I at least know your given name, good fletcher?” Barry asked the man before him, circling closer and imagining how painful the first clang of blades would feel up his forearms. “Or is it merely _Green Arrow_?”

The fletcher's smile barely gave a twitch. “It is until you prove yourself.”

He rushed Barry without warning, and instead of bracing his sword upward to deflect the coming blow, Barry spun out of the way and waited for his opponent to stumble.

He didn't.

Far swifter than anyone with a greatsword had any right to be, the fletcher pivoted and rammed his hilt into Barry's side. Barry gasped, breath lost, and nearly lost the grip on his weapon too.

“Don't assume your opponent’s abilities without proper assessment,” the fletcher said like a scolding tutor. He reminded Barry of Eobard—blond, beautiful, and severe. Eobard had taught Barry how to fight, but he'd clearly gone easy on him. Barry couldn't approach this battle thinking the rules would be the same.

The fletcher let him catch his breath, and then squared his stance again.

XXXXX

There was no denying it now, though initially that had not been the purpose of this sparring match. Barry had never been to any brothels or known the comfort of another, because he would have risked being discovered as a deviant and been banished from his own kingdom.

The way his eyes raked bashfully over Oliver’s rippling bare chest proved it to Len as much as the young prince’s blushing cheeks and utterances the night before of a fated ‘him’ as his love.

He wasn’t the first to prefer like company who had darkened Len’s door. It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet the knowledge made Len’s eyes narrow that much more closely on Barry’s movements. He was… capable with a sword. Few were as skilled as Oliver or Mick with any weapon, but then, they each had a couple centuries of experience to call upon, and Barry was a mere boy of twenty-one.

Still, each time Oliver sidestepped Barry and threw him to the ground, or simply overpowered him with a clash of metal, with his greatsword dwarfing Barry’s smaller blade, the prince got back up, took a breath, and tried again. To his credit, it took Oliver longer to best him each time, Barry’s eyes training on his movements and learning, waiting, calculating openings and how he could use his speed to his advantage against a stronger, more skilled opponent.

When it seemed to all those jeering for Oliver to finish him that Barry was sure to call for a reprieve, that’s when the prince struck.

Oliver weaved and swung, and Barry ducked, rolled out of the way, much like he had many times already, but when before Oliver would always manage to surprise him with a sharp jab of his hilt, fist, or sweep of his leg, this time, Barry saw every counter move coming and responded in kind. He weaved, twisted on the hard, frozen ground, swung up with his blade like he might slice Oliver cleanly, and then, at the last moment, rammed his hilt into Oliver’s shoulder and kicked the side of his knee to send him sprawling.

A surprised silence drifted over the crowd, for few had ever brought Oliver to his knees save those he’d trained himself. But after Oliver let his greatsword hit the ground, he left it there, lifted his head to look at Barry and accepted the hand offered down to him.

“Oliver,” he said, giving Barry his name finally, as he was hoisted to his feet, looking mildly impressed by the boy he thought to prove was all bluster. “Not bad. For a noble born.”

“You too.” Barry laughed, squeezing his hand in fierce comradery.

“And how are you with a bow?” Oliver nodded at the targets and archery sets nearby.

“Bow? Awful, to be honest.”

“That won’t do here.” Oliver nodded, sizing Barry up once more like he did with all those he intended to teach. “First, you need to master the skills you have, and what you have is speed. You’ve seen Shawna fight with her daggers? You could dual-wield just as well with two short-swords and be a menace against any opponent. With the right training—and patience. You let your eagerness get the best of you.”

“You aren’t the first to tell me that.” Barry smiled with a distant fondness in his gaze like he was thinking of someone very specific.

Len squelched the wave of jealousy that struck him.

“Who says besting the fletcher proves his mettle?” Mick boomed beside Len, bringing him back to himself and reminding him that they were not alone in the training yard.

Mick stomped forward, causing anyone too close in the crowd to automatically back away, as all members of the kingdom had been taught, and for Barry’s eyes to widen into emerald saucers when he was left standing alone as Oliver backed away too.

Grinning in a way that seemed too wide while he was made of fire, Mick squared his stance as Oliver had, his much larger greatsword, crackling and aflame, looking insurmountable and reflecting in Barry’s eyes to turn them amber.

“Come at me now and see how you fare,” Mick goaded.

“I… but…” Barry stammered in his terror.

“Blade to blade won’t set you on fire, boy. Now, how do you face a real challenge?” Mick puffed out his chest, sending a burst of flames to explode outward like a stove stuffed with too much kindling, losing his definition for a moment, before he became once more a brimstone fortress of a man.

Len’s instincts were to cry ‘no, enough!’, but he’d been the one to ask for this to see what Barry was made of. He just didn’t want the depths of the prince to be revealed only to be turned into ash.

“If I was elsewhere, Master Mick, and presented an opponent like you,” Barry said, raising his short sword with shaky arms, “I would desperately seek a parley.”

“Not all opponents are swayed by words,” Mick spat.

“Maybe not beasts or monsters, but men can always be reasoned with.”

Mick howled, and Len felt the heartache in his cry like few could, for only the cursed knew how they had bartered and bargained and been denied.

Barry spun away as he had with Oliver, barely missing having a chunk of his shoulder sawed at by a flaming edge. Mick wasn’t thinking, seeing an enemy where Len had merely wanted him to see a pretender—when he had still thought Barry was pretending.

Mick spun in kind, swiping out in a wide flaming circle that might have taken Barry’s head off if he hadn’t ducked low. All those watching backed up in equal measure like one great mass.

But Barry didn’t understand. He’d avoided clashing with Oliver too much blade to blade, knowing he’d be overpowered, so he tried the same with Mick. But there was nothing of Mick he could cut or touch!

Darting forward, he sliced at Mick’s leg only to have the blade pass through him as if he’d swung at a bonfire. He teetered from the force of the momentum and started to fall— _into_ Mick, something Mick couldn’t see, because he was mid-turn, swinging around toward Barry, where they would definitely collide with more than blades.

“Stop!” Len bellowed, and with his cry, he struck out like throwing an axe across a battlefield.

A cascade of ice shot across the ground from him to the dualists, not dangerous in itself to freeze Barry at its touch but still deadly if it sliced through him. Instead, it sliced between, snuffing out Mick’s closest flames, and toppling Barry into a wall of ice that made him hiss at the freezing temperature, shaking frost-bitten palms when he reared back.

The crowd went silent again, Oliver standing tall and vigilant, ready to race to Barry’s aid if Len decreed it, as Mick realized what had nearly transpired. They all got caught up in their vices sometimes, but it had been years since any of them had an… accident.

Len waved his hand, and the wall of ice crumbled, melting into the frozen ground. He would have told Oliver to go forth and help Barry, crouched and holding his stinging hands, but Axel ran to him first.

Hartley lurched forward then too, but held back, remembering his own deadly touch and that he could do little more than watch. He and Len watched together as Axel took Barry’s hands and placed his palms over them.

“Now you see it,” Axel said playfully, a glow forming where their skin touched, “now you don’t.”

The strain in Barry’s brow lessened, and when Axel pulled his hands away, Barry looked entirely at ease, staring at unmarred skin. “You’re a healer?”

“Just an elvish parlor trick. It only works on minor wounds.”

“Thank you,” Barry said heartfeltly, and then turned his eyes to Len, as if to pass those same words to him. 

Mick said nothing, brooding and bitter that he’d nearly lost control when this had been his idea. Len nodded at him to let it go, before returning his eyes to Barry.

“Be more vigilant, little prince. A future king can't be a klutz. Now come. We’ll finish today’s audience in private. Oliver can teach you the bow another day.” Len turned to head for the staircase behind the castle entrance, winding upwards to the ramparts. He heard the crowd murmur and disperse, followed by Barry’s dutiful feet. 

The prince said nothing as they ascended to the top of the wall. From there, the whole lands could be seen, including a better view of the Mystic Valley.

“Majesty,” Barry said when Len merely gazed outward, “I must say that I am truly grateful—”

“I do not need any undo deaths on my conscience. If you die here, you’ll earn it.”

Barry quieted, only to sigh and stand taller. “I’d rather earn your trust. You care deeply, allowing everyone here the greatest of freedoms. You even protected me when you still see me as an enemy. That is the mark of a good king.”

Such naivety again, but Len was beyond believing there was any act to it. He gazed down at Barry, the wind from being up so high further tousling his hair, sweat on his brow from his fights, and resolution in his expression.

Len was resolute too.

“Making up for past mistakes does not absolve them.”

“Perhaps not, but if you were a bad king, you wouldn’t care to make up for anything.” Barry shifted closer, too close, only a foot from certain death, despite how close he’d come to it down below. “Please, majesty, tell me of the curse. Have I not proven myself enough?”

Not enough for everything, but there were layers to this tale. “Do you know who you will marry?” Len asked, watching the expected reaction of Barry’s cheeks going flush and his eyes wide.

“I… no. My father has not yet chosen anyone or introduced me to candidates. I expect it will be soon though.”

“When my father introduced me to mine, I told him to marry them himself, for I’d sooner see his decaying corpse on the throne than ever rule.”

“You did not wish to be king?”

“I did not wish to be beholden to anyone but myself. As prince, I had everything I wanted. Money, power, prestige. I could do whatever I chose, and no one questioned me. But if I was king, I would have responsibilities.

“My father was a traditionalist like the worst of those from your kingdom. He didn’t scoff at magic, as long as he controlled those who wielded it, but he believed elves should only lie with elves, men only with women, and the lands must always be ruled by a firstborn son of our line—married and with at least one heir on the way before they took the throne.

“I wanted none of it. Least of all a queen.”

“What did you do?” Barry asked with rapt attention.

Len leaned his massive head down to him. “Fucked all the stable boys.”

Barry sputtered, face flushing as scarlet as his doublet. “D-did you really?”

“Not only the stable boys,” Len amended. “More so as many men as I could. Out of desire, certainly, but also to spite my father.”

“And…” Barry reached for the stone wall as if to steady his footing, “…did they want to be taken by their prince?”

“Are you asking if I forced myself on them?”

“I-I wouldn’t presume—”

“Rest assured, little prince, it was always mutual want.”

The tension in Barry eased, but his mind was clearly working through the implications. “Is that what cursed you?”

“You think lying with men could curse a whole kingdom?”

“No! I don’t believe there is anything wrong with it like the teachings of my kingdom. I _can’t_ , not when I—” Barry snapped his mouth shut before the truth could escape him.

“When you lust for no queen either,” Len finished for him.

The tension returned tenfold, Barry’s blush draining away to leave him pallid. “Am I so obvious?”

“No, but I’ve seen enough. You’re used to hiding yourself.” Len steeled his gaze on Barry sharply. “You will not hide from me. If you wish to know me and for me to know you, then you will be as transparent as Hartley. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, majesty.” Barry regained his composure with a stalwart breath. “I did not mean to hide my… wants. I’ve just rarely spoken of them. Cisco is the only one who knows. But you are right. I have no desire for a queen.”

“Then what do you desire?”

Epic tales could have been written with the many thoughts that played behind Barry’s eyes, his gaze clouded as he considered his answer. “A choice.”

Len turned back to look upon the landscape beyond them. “So did I.”

“What happened?”

“My father died, and I became king anyway.”

“You changed things then, before the curse?”

The bitterness that had not dwindled in over two-hundred years made Len’s lips curl with scorn. “I certainly did.”

“Is that why you allow such freedoms here? Because you were the same?”

There was no such scorn in Barry, only the innocence of youth who’d been hiding all his life. “I allow it because who one loves or lies with shouldn’t matter.”

Barry smiled, and if Len had still had doubts about him, all would have been banished in that expression, catching the warmth of the sun in his ruddy cheeks. “I wonder if my father could ever understand that,” he said hopefully, like he believed it might be possible.

Not if he was anything like Len’s father, but Len couldn’t imagine this young prince turning out as he had with a cold, brutish figurehead raising him.

“Majesty,” Barry asked with sudden hesitancy, his eyes falling to the drop-off of the wall, “when you approached other men to… be with, what did you say? How did you win their favor?”

“Besides asking if they wanted a romp in the stables?” Len teased.

“Surely, it wasn’t that easy?” Barry’s cheeks burned brightly again.

“Sometimes it was. Do you know nothing of wooing, little prince?” Len asked, knowing the answer, but it still surprised him how virginal those green eyes looked when they blinked at him.

“Isn’t that for women?”

_Oh dear boy._

Barry was a man, and yet also only on the cusp of it, shielded from knowing all he might have asked of the world.

Leaning low once more to bring their faces as close as he dared without risk of unintended touch, Len dropped his voice low too. “You tell me. Wouldn’t you like to be wooed?”

Barry dropped his eyes to the stones at their feet. “I suppose I would.”

“And how would one woo the Emerald Prince?” Len asked foolishly—foolish because Barry’s thoughts could never stray to _him_ when they went distant with reverie.

“I would want us to understand one another,” he said sweetly, sighing with the first breath of anyone young and yearning to find love, “to have similar wants and goals, similar likes. I would want to be drawn to them as I am a good friend, but with that stir of passion that is impossible to explain.”

“You speak from experience?”

Barry glanced up fearfully, but then relaxed, as if he had to remind himself that here he could speak openly. “The first man I ever loved… was the worst candidate. Our master of arms. He’s older. Strong, dependable, handsome. But he is the very man who would have seen me to the gates upon my banishment if I were discovered. I could never be free to love him, blue eyes or not.”

“Blue eyes?” Len repeated curiously.

“Oh, um… it’s nothing.” Barry’s gaze darted fearfully away again. “He was always there when I needed him, but he also helped me to be self-reliant. He taught me to fight and to stand proud during court like a proper prince. He could weave tales almost as good as a bard, to the point that I often didn’t know if what he told me actually happened or was a legend spun for my amusement.”

“You enjoy stories?” Len asked. “I suppose your singing suggests as much.”

“I do, but really, I enjoy the ways people can connect, maybe because I had so few I connected with back home. It’s difficult to befriend a prince, apparently.” He fidgeted with his hands, mesmerized by the smooth skin that had so recently been burned by ice, only to smile as he smoothed a thumb across his palm. “But not here. Here no one treats me as anything but me.”

Something startled Barry then, and he pulled back, looking at Len in full and at their surroundings.

“I’ve… never told anyone all that. Not even Cisco knows about Eobard.”

 _Eobard_. Len disliked this ‘master of arms’ immediately, silly as it was to care about Barry’s infatuations. “Why tell me?”

The answer was once again an honest smile. “You _asked_. And I promised we would know one another. Isn’t that easier with a connecting thread? We are not so different.”

They were different in all the ways that mattered, because Len could have been like Barry, good and wanting to do right by others despite being barred from his heart’s desires, but he’d chosen a selfish path. Barry reminded him of all he might have become if he’d been better, and although that truth and their similarities might have made Len hate him, he felt warm in the prince’s presence.

Their eyes locked, sapphire on emerald, and with that wind and the sun and Barry’s rosy cheeks, he looked far too beautiful and breakable to be standing before a monster that yearned to touch.

Barry shivered, sharp breath escaping his lips, and Len reared back, too much mist and power emanating from him.

“Your potion wears thin,” Len said, drawing up to his full height to turn and head across the ramparts away from Barry. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“But… you didn’t actually tell me about the curse!” Barry called after him.

“Tomorrow,” Len said again. Perhaps, once he had, Barry would see the monster more clearly.

XXXXX

Barry wasn’t sure if the potion really was wearing off. It shouldn’t be. He hadn’t shivered from the cold, after all, just…

The Ice King’s eyes could be so piercing.

So _blue_.

And he too had been a prince who loved in a way that others saw as wrong.

Well, maybe _loved_ was the wrong word— _fucking stable boys_. Barry blushed at the thought. Oh to have been that bold! He wondered more than ever what the Ice King had looked like when he was human. Lisa was breathtaking; surely, he was too.

The king headed off along the ramparts to reenter the castle another way, making it clear that he did not wish for Barry to follow, so Barry descended the stairs. When he reached the training yard, most of the crowd had gone, but Axel and Hartley remained, talking heatedly about something that they hushed when they saw him.

“Just remember, Spymaster,” Axel said loud and snappish, “I can find almost anything funny—but not _that_.”

Hartley huffed, crossing milky arms as he floated before Axel. “Like you’ve never done the same,” he said and poofed away.

Axel bristled, visibly upset, only to pivot and smile maniacally. He was once again dressed in bright colors with conflicting patterns. “Ignore him. Preferably always. Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?” He swooped forward to take Barry’s arm and swung him around toward the door. “I didn’t really mean for Oliver to knock your block off, you know. Which he didn’t, thankfully, though Mick could have done worse.”

“Thank you again for my hands,” Barry said.

“Of course! And you can make it up to me. I hear you were unjustly torn from the princess’s side this morning. Did you know she’s rather talented with a lute? Let’s see if we can make a real bard out of you.” He tilted his head up toward Barry’s cheek and whispered, “But upstage me too much or too often and I will have to destroy you.”

Barry laughed, feeling rather confident despite his near-miss with Master Mick. He’d beaten the fletcher— _Oliver_ —and earned his respect, the Ice King himself had rescued him and conversed with him more than a mere exchange of barbs, and he hadn’t lost any new friends.

He did wonder what had Axel so upset with Hartley though.

Inside the castle, Barry continued to map the paths he was taken on, but today, he traversed even more areas he hadn’t yet been and continued to be impressed by the palace’s size. Axel took him to a music room, packed with instruments and hand-written sheet music. Lisa was there, along with several others, including Wynn at a harpsichord with a quill in hand, as if writing music that very moment.

“I see you survived,” Lisa greeted with a smile, near the wall with her lute, away from the others, while some had flutes or other stringed instruments, and one had a simple drum.

“Best not to tell her what happened,” Axel mock-whispered.

“Why…?” Lisa asked slowly.

“So as not to spoil your lovely mood, of course. What are we playing?” Axel pulled Barry into the room, releasing him to take up a tambourine.

“Are you music master too, sir inventor?” Barry approached Wynn at the harpsichord.

“Our princess is more the master, just you wait, but building…” Wynn pat the side of the harpsichord, and then tapped his parchment, “…that I can do.”

“You built _that_? And wrote all this music?” There were shelves of bound pages all around Barry.

“Not all of it,” Wynn said. “There are stories too from Axel for when he wants accompaniment. What songs would you hear, Emerald Prince? We learn new ones from every offering. We might know something you’re familiar with.”

“Can all of you sing?” Barry asked the small gathering of musicians.

“Best if I don’t,” Axel said.

“Or me,” Lisa added, “but a plucked melody I can handle just fine.” She strummed a perfectly tuned chord that lifted Barry’s spirits further. He missed the times when he and Cisco would simply sing together or when Cisco would play on the old harpsichord in the palace that Barry’s mother once used.

“Do you know ‘The Ride-Along Bard’ about the traveling minstrel who keeps finding faulty heroes? That one always made me laugh.” And it had been Barry’s mother’s favorite when he was little, and she’d sing by his bedside.

“A classic!” Wynn said, setting his quill aside to straighten on the bench and starting right in on the introduction without needing to change sheet music.

Lisa strummed, and the flutes started up, the lone drummer pounding out a beat, as Axel held his tambourine under his arm and clapped along.

Wynn began with a beautiful tenor.

_There once was a humble bard  
Setting off to tell the greatest of tales  
Seeking heroes and knights in every tavern she fared  
She was never short of volunteers_

He nodded at Barry to continue, who knew the song well.

_The first she rode along beside  
Was a fabled hero of legend  
A lady knight besting dragons and beasts  
Then besieged by cutthroats and brigands_

Wynn joined on the chorus.

_For no bard is humble  
And no hero’s flawless  
All that matters is the stories we tell_

This time, Wynn nodded for Barry to start.

_The next the bard chose as her muse  
Was a bright young hero who’d vanquished a lord  
Freeing peoples and lands from the overlord’s hold  
Then he conquered and ruled just the same_

Wynn nodded again, adding harmony as Barry led.

_She tried a noble king all adored  
Hearing praise of peace and riches  
Indeed, the king was everything claimed  
But he ate his enemies whole_

_For no bard is humble  
And no hero’s flawless  
All that matters is the stories we tell_

Barry motioned for Wynn to take the final verse, and he did, high and true.

_For years she tried to find a true song  
That wouldn’t end in heartache and gloom  
But all the heroes were lies or had died on their feet  
So she drank and lied her way too_

They finished strong together.

_For no bard is humble  
And no hero’s flawless  
All that matters is the stories we tell_

_When the dark falls  
And swords clash in the night  
Strong ale is better than a fight_

Wynn trilled through several loud ending chords, and Axel gave an impromptu shake of his tambourine, making everyone laugh. Barry’s mother had often said it wasn’t a funny tale if one listened closely, but it always got a crowd roaring and made Barry smile.

He took a seat beside Wynn at the harpsichord. “Can you teach me what you were working on when I came in?”

They played and sang for nearly an hour more before the door to the music room burst open—to reveal Cisco, looking put out that he hadn’t been invited.

“Now, now, poor slave to our Weather Wizard,” Axel exclaimed, “how did you know to escape and join us?”

“Hartley told me.” Cisco rushed over, squeezing onto the bench with Barry and Wynn like it was commonplace for the three of them to play together. “I begged Master Mark to let me leave early for lunch once I finished a few things. What are we singing?”

Barry noticed a funny look on Axel’s face that was quickly replaced by a smile.

“Glad you could join us,” Lisa said, moving to take a spot in front of the harpsichord now, where she smiled at Cisco with all her golden beauty. “Music isn’t the same without you.”

“And there would be no music worth singing about without you,” he answered boldly—only to catch himself like he’d said something he shouldn’t, darting his eyes at Barry. “I-I mean…”

“Shall we try another?” Wynn spoke over him. “How about ‘Moonlit Lovers’?”

If the princess could have blushed through her golden sheen, she certainly did then, and it struck Barry as suddenly… sad. Cisco had always been a disaster with women, which Barry said was his fault for being the worst sort of second, but it didn’t surprise him that his friend had found a better voice here.

How unfair, though, for it to be with a woman he couldn’t touch…

“Shouldn’t the bard get a turn?” Axel blocked their view to Lisa by draping his arms over the harpsichord, tossing Wynn some new sheet music to be played with spoken verse, and the merriment played on.

They stayed in the music room for what must have been hours leading up to lunchtime. When they did finally agree that hunger meant it was time to disperse, Wynn patted Cisco’s shoulder for his lovely additions to their harmonies, and Cisco’s eyes went blank.

A vision.

“Oh, Wynn,” Cisco turned to the elf as they stood from the harpsichord, “there’s an issue with the sewage pump, a faulty valve you need to tend to that might break in a few days.”

“Good to know! What would we do without you?” Wynn patted his back again.

Barry wasn’t used to Cisco being able to express his visions without having to think up some elaborate lie for why he knew what he did. Here it was just a part of life.

Lisa smiled at Cisco as she floated out of the room after most of the others had gone, his eyes following her the entire way, until they reached Barry watching him.

“What?” He startled.

Barry could have brought up the princess but decided to be kind. “It’s just wonderful seeing you so carefree about your visions. These people are… remarkable.” He looked to Wynn, last to leave, waiting for them at the door. 

“They are,” Cisco agreed, “but it’s not only that. My visions here are… smaller. In Emerald, I could encounter people from all over the kingdom, and it always felt so big. We’re like a small village in the castle. The future is filled with smaller, simpler things. Like faulty sewage valves.” He chuckled. “It’s only the past sometimes that reminds me what everyone here has been through.” He glanced at Wynn too.

“And you,” Barry said, gripping his friend’s arm.

“And you,” Cisco returned. They had all been shunned for things they couldn’t change. Then he looked down at where they were connected. “Did you want to know more—”

“ _No_.” Barry let go. He never wanted Cisco to think the only reason he touched him was for a peek at the future. “I mean… did you see more?”

“Nothing new.”

“Then no. I’m finding my way here.” Barry gestured toward Wynn so they wouldn’t keep him waiting. “I’m going to stay on this path without doubting where it leads. Starting with telling the truth.”

XXXXX

Len had watched it all like the day before, following Barry as soon as he returned indoors, from the music room to lunch afterward, where Oliver and his wife joined the friends Barry had made.

The prince’s secret was out, not only because he’d had to be truthful with Len, but because he chose to confess to his new companions too. As he explained what he had in common with some of the denizens of the castle, others turned to listen, and the darkness in Barry’s eyes gradually lifted, finally free of their burden. He was acclimating quickly and being welcomed faster than few ever had.

But he was not meant to stay. If all Barry wanted from his time here came to fruition, he would return to his own kingdom someday, not become a part of Len’s. That truth drained the warmth Len had felt outside, reminding him of his own eternal chill.

He lost track of time watching Barry until darkness fell, when he retreated to his rooms. He’d managed to avoid Lisa, ducking away whenever he heard her coming—especially after she learned the full scope of events in the training yard.

“Lenny!” She pounded on his door. He couldn’t hide any longer after the sun set. “What were you thinking? He might have been killed!”

Len stood in his private chamber, a place no one else had been since the curse was cast, not even his sister, and barely turned his head to answer. “All ended well. Leave me be.”

“They ended well, but they might not have,” she called more softly. “Do not tempt fate. You know how accidents haunt us.”

“Everyone I’ve frozen has earned it.”

“But the same cannot be said for all of us…”

Len closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to put Mick in that position, or to remind Lisa of events that haunted her. He didn’t know any longer what he wished to accomplish with Barry. He’d been consistently surprised by him. Maybe Barry could convince his kingdom to change, go home and make a new world of the Emerald Kingdom. Len’s own kingdom would stop growing then, and perhaps some of his people would leave, at least to visit, if not return to their old homes for good.

That would be the only happy end any of them could hope for, yet it filled Len with an ache to imagine all he knew coming to an end. To lose any part of this home he’d built, to lose any of its people, even Barry, who’d only been here for a few days.

“Lenny,” Lisa called again, very soft now, defeated on the other side of his door.

“I won’t endanger him again. He’ll only do that himself. No more tests. But the two weeks stand. I’ve been wrong before.”

“What is it about him that has you so twisted?”

If only Len knew…

He did know, he supposed. It was everything about Barry, including what they had in common, which was more than enough to unravel him when decades had passed without anyone like Barry coming here.

“Please, Len, talk to me. Let me see you.” A faint thud sounded at the door, as if she’d pressed her palm there. 

“Tomorrow,” Len said, still not turning or making any move toward his door.

She did not plead again, knowing he wouldn’t budge. Eventually, her silence gave way to the soft padding of retreating feet.

Len’s mind swirled with all he’d discovered of Barry and all he’d seen. His love of stories. His voice. Len used to spin tales too, for the sheer joy of weaving prose.

Now, he drifted toward his writing desk, covered in neatly stacked parchment that he hadn’t touched in ages. Carefully, he sat and picked up his quill, allowing the words to flow.

_The noble prince went on his quest  
To become a greater king  
Than those before who’d shamed their lands  
And bards denied to sing_

_He traveled far to learn abroad  
How other kings reigned just  
But for all he found who’d earned their crowns  
Men made beasts ruled thus_

_He pitied one such beast  
to turn him from his ways  
In hopes that tenderness might win  
And pierce the heart that strayed_

_Hearts made of ice aren’t made for melting  
But the prince did burn so bright  
That he reached the wayward beastly king  
And found him in the night_

_Lips and hands and hearts did touch  
Knowing pleasures lost before  
And the prince did reach the king at last  
As the beast became no more_

Len crumpled the parchment and chucked it across the room, angry at himself for writing something so… juvenile. He was no bard, and he shouldn’t be a dreamer.

There was no end to his curse, least of all through a hapless fairytale.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am especially excited for the next two chapters. ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer for many reasons. Mainly I was out of commission most of this past week due to my grandmother's funeral, the last of my grandparents to pass. She was 93, always supportive, and had several of my books, so while it is a sad affair, there was also much laughter and celebration of life. 
> 
> This also took a long time because it's LONG. So I hope you enjoy!

Barry had had another long day, especially sore after his adventures in the training yard. Now, he sluggishly wandered up to bed, Cisco having already retired, as well as Shawna and Axel, though Barry had stayed in the banquet hall nursing a cup of mead with Wynn while getting to know Oliver and his wife, Felicity, who he liked too much to be jealous of for having snagged the heart of the handsome fletcher.

Wynn was the castle’s main engineer, but Felicity was a close second, and Barry was enthralled to hear about everything the pair had invented to make life better here.

The hour was drawing late, however, and he needed his rest to be up early for his next audience with the king. The wing of the castle where he and Cisco had their rooms was quieter than others, less full, he supposed, with fewer than a dozen rooms, six on each side of the hall.

As he neared the corridor, he saw Widow Caitlin leaving it, briskly moving in the opposite direction and not noticing his approach. He still hadn’t spoken to her and wondered where she might be off to so late and at such a persistent pace.

He knew little about her and hadn’t thought it right to ask Cisco, like some meddling gossip. He hadn’t even known that her room was down their same hall, though it made sense, with the quarters handed out as new offerings came to the castle, and she’d been there only ten years, falling right in line with his dozen neighbors.

Surely, more drastic measures were allowed with someone determined to avoid him. Barry was meant to discover the castle’s secrets, after all, and wanted to befriend and understand everyone he could.

Slowing his steps and glancing behind to be sure no one else was nearby, Barry moved to the wall to inch toward the corner. When he peered to see how far she had gotten, he saw her quickly disappear down another hallway. He hurried after her, quiet but swift, but when he peered around the next corner, he saw no sign of her.

Had she gone into one of the other rooms? All the doors were closed, and he didn’t think he’d heard—

“Spying, Prince Bartholomew?”

Barry jumped a clean foot off the ground. She was behind him.

_How?_

“Well?” Caitlin crossed her arms, clothed simply like everyone in the castle but with deep hues to her dark blue kirtle over a silvery-grey smock. She wore her long brunette hair down with only the front few strands pinned back. She was a lovely woman but painted over with a sheen of severity.

“N-no.” Barry straightened. “I was just hoping to talk to you, since you seem so set on not talking to me.”

“Do we have something to talk about?” she snapped, dripping with scorn that would have deflated him if he hadn't accomplished so much today.

“You must hate me greatly, but I was only a boy when you were sent here. Let me understand—”

“Your father was not a boy. He was king, and he made a choice to follow the will of the people, despite my pleading.” The ice in her expression was indeed as piercing as the king’s, even with brown eyes, but she seemed to calm herself as she finished, “He was grieving, I understand, but so was I.”

“You were?” Barry looked through her veiled expression, realizing that the bitter cold was to shield a broken heart. “That you’re a widow precedes you.”

“Indeed.” Her arms dropped, and she huffed a dejected sigh. “You lost your mother, and that same night, I lost my husband.”

“The same night!?”

“That fact only condemned me further. The master of arms stormed my home, found my potions and teachings unsanctioned by alchemy, and called me a witch. They assumed I killed my husband and your mother, but they had no evidence other than magic in me.”

Barry hadn’t understood how the offerings worked back then, but he remembered whispers of a witch—of many witches, then and in all the years since. “They’ve condemned others for my mother’s death, never sure, just speculation. I’m so sorry that while you suffered your own loss, you had to suffer being blamed too.” It did not even dawn on Barry that either accusation could be true. “May I ask… who was your husband?”

She hesitated, keeping her distance at the end of the hall. “Ronald, a guard in the castle. I called him Ronnie.”

“Ronnie?” Barry exclaimed. “I remember him! I knew he was married but not to who. I didn’t learn he died for months. They sent so many soldiers away after my mother’s death. He was a serious soldier, but when no one was looking, he would smile or wink at me or even crouch to play.”

The barest twitch of a smile touched Caitlin’s lips. “He always had kind words for your parents and fondness for you too. When I confessed my fears about starting a family, knowing our child could inherit my magic, he used you as a reason that it would be alright, saying the kingdom was in good hands.

“Maybe I was wrong to cling stubbornly to thinking otherwise,” she said quietly, only for her expression to harden again. “But you haven’t changed Emerald yet, and actions speak louder than empty promises.”

“My promises are not empty,” Barry swore.

She stared at him for some time, but then nodded.

Barry would have accepted that as a truce and let her pass, but the knowledge of Ronnie’s death plagued him. Caitlin was young—or had been when sent here. Ronnie had been the same, early 20s, he remembered, not much older than Barry now.

“Ronnie dying the same night as my mother can’t be a coincidence. Do you know how he died?”

“He died as your mother did, the very same way.”

“What?” Barry’s stomach roiled, surging him forward. “You know how my mother died? Was it magic as everyone feared? Please, I—”

“No.” Her hard eyes turned sympathetic, as she held out a hand to halt him. “There were components missing from my home, some reported to have been missing from the Master Alchemist too. Science killed your mother, with elements taken from various sources to cover the killer’s tracks.

“Ronnie must have seen them or caught them in the act, and they forced him to drink or be doused in whatever substance they used. I tried telling all this to the master of arms, to your father when he questioned me, to anyone who would listen, but I was just a witch in their eyes, easy to condemn and dismiss.”

“But what _exactly_ was it?” Barry pressed. “What potion did the killer make? What did they take to do it?”

“Wormwood and rose petals were missing from the alchemist. Wormwood could be a poison, but the master of arms would have detected it on its own. He said the bodies had no trace of anything, that only magic could be blamed, but I know it is more complicated.”

“What did they take from you?”

“Dried spider’s eye and wraith teeth.”

“Wraith teeth?” Barry repeated.

“A fancy name for ice, key in many potions, and by raiding my home, they discovered my secret.” She turned her hand palm up, and tiny shards of ice began to form before Barry’s eyes, with mist rising from her, eyes glowing blue, and her dark hair turning a pure white. “I made the ice myself.”

An _ice maiden_. Of course she’d been condemned; they were a rare manifestation of magic that everyone in Emerald thought were cursed, tied directly to the Ice King himself. Barry knew now how ridiculous that was, even if he didn’t know the details of the castle’s curse.

“I don’t know exactly what killed Ronnie or your mother, but it was science, not magic, and whoever used it was no one in this castle.” The ice retreated into her palm, the mist calming, and her hair and eyes returned to normal. “They never told you any of this? Your father? General Eobard?”

“No.” Eobard never shared anything with Barry about that night, and whenever he pressed his father, King Henry looked so sad, voice catching as he tried to speak, that Barry would backtrack and tell him it didn’t matter.

He’d always hoped it hadn’t been magic, but to learn so much more of the truth didn’t assuage him.

“Thank you for telling me,” Barry said. “Perhaps, one day, I can change the hearts of our people and get justice for all our loved ones.”

Like before, Caitlin stared at him for a long time, her subtle smile peeking through more broadly. “That really is all you want, isn’t it?”

“What else would I want?” Barry tilted his head at her, only in the crease of her brow recognizing that she had clearly expected different of him, some other version of a prince, and looked—at least he hoped—pleasantly surprised.

“Keep on as you are, Emerald Prince. You’re faring well so far,” she said and nodded once more as she moved to slip past him, heading back down the hallway she’d initially began to trek.

It had indeed been a productive day, no matter how wary it made Barry feel to finally know that whoever had caused his mother’s death had gotten away with it, and he still had no idea exactly how or why.

He also realized that he still had no idea where Caitlin was headed, but he knew better than to try following her again.

XXXXX

Len didn’t need sleep. The curse saw to that, though occasionally he and the others still chose to if only for a quieting of the mind.

Last night, he didn’t rest at all. He’d been too agitated, leaving his crumpled bit of prose in the corner of his room for hours before he finally retrieved it, smoothed its edges, and left it back on his desk. He should tear it into pieces or freeze it to dust, but he couldn’t bear to part with it just yet.

Today, he waited for Barry in his main chamber, gracing his throne only minutes before Barry’s arrival. Len knew better than to be late when Barry kept proving timely.

“Follow me, little prince.” Len got down from the throne as soon as the young man came near, turning toward his secret tunnels. Where he wanted to have their audience today was somewhere he could only reach through hidden passageways or risk icing far too many halls.

He saw the awe on Barry’s face as they entered the corridors. Len kept looking back as he led Barry, since the space was tight. His own hunch and slow gait ensured Barry had to walk slowly too or risk running into him.

Eventually, they came to the room Len intended, and he moved the hidden door aside.

“Do these tunnels lead everywhere in the castle?” Barry asked.

“For the most part.” Len backed away, leaving Barry plenty of room to exit. “Go on. I have a feeling you haven’t seen this room yet.” He couldn’t come right out and say that he knew Barry hadn’t because he’d been spying on him for days.

Cautiously, Barry ventured forth. Though the tunnels were slick and icy, his potion guaranteed steady footing, and he gave no sign of shivering, though a gasp did leave him once he’d cleared the exit and saw what lay on the other side.

The library was a masterwork, boasting the highest ceilings in the castle and bursting with tomes. The last two-hundred years had only seen its shelves added to by works of the people there, which wasn’t many, but the original collection was vast. There were no windows to spare the books the power of the sun dimming their covers, but the great hall with its many rows was lit up brilliantly, one of the brightest rooms in the castle, because Mick always spared a part of his power to keep it lit, just as he kept the castle warm.

Mick came off as harsh, but Len knew him to be an avid reader, with interest in adding to their bard tales as well, though for prose only, not singing, and certainly not publicly. Very few knew he had that hobby.

Barry’s curiosity preceded him and kept his feet moving forward, as Len exited after him with more care.

“You may leave the path,” Len said. “It was made for me, since this is one of few rooms I was not willing to give up, even if I do leave an unfortunate wake.”

Only then did Barry look down and realize he stood in a hollowed-out groove in the floor like a forest path, leading many different directions throughout the library. It kept Len’s ice and subsequent melting water from getting near the books.

Barry turned to look at Len with a boyish smile. “How clever. But how do you read the books if you can’t touch them?”

Len gestured ahead, and Barry stepped gingerly out of the path to walk along the main floor. A few rows down was a pedestal with an open book, surrounded by one of Wynn’s clever contraptions. It connected to a pair of pedals on the floor that Len could reach from his path, and with a simple step on one of the pedals, the connecting mechanism gripped a page and turned it.

Len showed Barry first by turning to the next page, and then stepped on the other pedal to turn it back. “I need assistance when the time comes for a new book, but this serves its purpose.”

“What is this one?” Barry stepped up to the pedestal to investigate. “ _The River Princess_? That’s a romance!”

“A king can’t enjoy some sordid fun? I thought we discussed that already. Admittedly, I prefer to reimagine most damsels as—”

“Stable boys?” Barry teased. “Though I suppose in this case it would be a prince.” What he’d said caught up to him a moment later, and his sweet smile dropped. “I-I mean…uhhh…”

“I never had a prince,” Len said. The words slipped free as easily as any confession to Barry so far, because the bashful way Barry lowered his head and fluttered his emerald eyes, only to flick back up and center on Len, seemed to say his wants focused there too.

Not on Len. It couldn’t possibly be that. But on a prince of his own.

Len sat in an extra groove that had been built for that purpose, and Barry pulled a chair over to sit close at the edge of the path. There was barely the length of a man separating them, and yet, in his trough to protect the world from his frozen form, Len felt leagues away from Barry beside that pedestal.

“How might a prince have changed things?” Barry asked.

“Maybe not at all,” Len said. He needed Barry to understand that there was no changing anything—not here anyway. “I wasn’t prepared for my father’s death. I thought I could push off the inevitable forever. I was young, like you, and felt invincible, constantly thwarting my father’s plans for me.

“When he died, I had a wicked and terrible idea. Thrust into my role as monarch, I vowed to change everything, to make a mockery of what my father thought a kingdom should be and create a land free for everyone to live as they pleased.”

Barry frowned. “Wasn’t that a good thing?”

“Have you ever heard what the road to damnation is built with, little prince?”

Barry’s twitch of a smile said he had.

“My intentions weren’t good anyway. I was really only thinking of myself and the freedoms I wanted. I dismissed my father's advisors, even the most well-respected, and chose my friends as my court. We did whatever we wanted, telling our subjects to do the same.

“Not to say my court isn’t each capable in their position, but back then, we had no plan or sense of gravity to all that fell under our rule. And let me assure you, there is nothing quite as dangerous as giving people exactly what they think they want.

“What happened wasn’t on them, however. They soon saw the folly of it all, that yes, everyone should be able to love and exist and pursue their heart’s desires, but there must be order and responsibility too. A kingdom should not rule every part of a subject’s lives, but freedom shouldn’t be a guise for apathy. There must be a balance of control and personal liberty or everything crumbles.”

“I understand,” Barry said. “I wish to change the laws of the Emerald Kingdom, to not condemn anyone without a true crime against them, but not to abolish all law and tradition entirely.”

“Then you are far better than I was. A tyrant in power isn’t the answer but giving everyone everything eventually collapses. Bandits arose, unrest, famine, and everyone looked to me to fix it. But all I cared about was… my stable boys,” Len finished wryly. “A system is only as good as its worst person in power, no matter how well-intentioned.

“More and more people left for other kingdoms, where crops were plentiful and soldiers dependable. Freedom didn’t matter when it came from a king who didn’t care—or certainly didn’t seem to. Eventually, the Sapphire Kingdom caught the eye of the Mystic Valley. The Fairy Queen had grown concerned of so many flocking to her lands, so she came to investigate.”

“You met the Fairy Queen?” Barry’s eyes shot as wide as Len had yet seen them.

She wasn’t really a fairy. Fairies were myths and whispers of the Shadow Lands, but the Fairy Queen was such a powerful ruler of the elves that she had myths of her own. Elves of the Mystic Valley were said to be un-aging because of her magic.

Len could see in Barry’s eyes when he realized he should have guessed where the curse came from, since the castle’s inhabitants were un-aging too.

“She came with a small contingent of her people, and we threw a banquet in her honor.”

“That is the proper response for a visiting ruler.”

“Naturally, but at that time, my lands were half-abandoned, and the castle was a mess. We may as well have been drunken revelers, feasting from our stores, while the few remaining people outside the castle were starving.

“The Fairy Queen sat in silence through it all, as we made fools of ourselves. I even attempted to bed a human in her company who turned out to be her Prince Consort.”

“You didn’t.” Barry paled.

“I did. It was clear that my kingdom would implode in months if not weeks, so, before the night was through, she stood from where we dined at the long table at the back of the hall, and with a flourish of her hands, all the candles lighting the room snuffed out, and only she glowed, radiant in the center.”

Len could still remember it so clearly, though he’d been well on his way to inebriated by that point. As he recited to Barry what she said, he heard it in his mind in her powerful voice.

_“You are not a king or a kingdom. You are a menace, even to your own people. Now, I see why they come to me or run off to distant lands. I could let you continue wasting your resources and losing your subjects over time, but that would be cruel to everyone._

_“Instead, I will give your people a choice—to stay or be welcomed into my lands instead, while you and those who rule beside you are taught a lesson.”_

Her voice had resonated with even more power as she cast her spell.

_“Your kingdom’s folly ends tonight  
and you will live until it’s right  
for you are cold and full of wanting  
like molten gold  
that burns without warmth  
and stinging power made for haunting  
the invisible that you forgot._

_Be what you are and have neglected  
until you find your way.  
See what you should be in your mourning  
before you rule again someday._

“I felt it then,” Len said, “though I couldn’t describe it as anything more than a chill and tingle down my spine. She turned to my friends, as she sent her own people away, and said, ‘If you protect him and believe in him, you will see this curse through. When his heart melts and he is a true King, then the spell will be broken’.

“She warned me that a return to my father’s ways was not the answer. All power or no power is never the answer.”

“Balance.” Barry nodded thoughtfully.

“There are things to be learned from all ways and all people. There is no single answer to how to rule well. I don’t claim that how this castle runs now is the best, but it is ours.

“When the Fairy Queen left that night, Lisa, the others, and I soon found ourselves alone, but we didn’t believe anything would come of her words—until dawn, when we began to change.”

“And all the people she asked to seek refuge?” Barry asked.

“Every last one accepted her offer and left.”

“Then came the story of the fletcher?”

“Yes, though we had some years alone first. I suppose you could say that Oliver gave us a project, and we decided to stop wallowing in our solitude.”

With the story at its end—and in some ways, its beginning—a reaction Len had not anticipated burst onto Barry’s face.

He smiled.

“This is such wonderful news.”

“ _What?_ ”

“The curse,” Barry said seriously but just as full of energetic abandoned. “It’s only meant to be temporary. It has stipulations. It can be broken.”

“Don’t you understand? I allowed my subjects to starve and die, while I rejoiced in my wealth and position.”

“I do understand. You and Oliver were very much the same. Do you hold it against him the rich man’s son he once was?”

Len wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“The only thing I don’t understand is why the curse still stands. Clearly, you have lived up to your end of what the Fairy Queen’s spell requested.”

“You aren’t listening,” Len bit out sharply. 

“But I am. I have. She cursed you to find your way to becoming a better king, and that’s exactly what you did.”

“If that were true, if that were all it took, then I would no longer be this beast.” Len lifted one of his clawed hands, large enough that he could have gripped Barry’s head with ease and crushed it. “Yet here I am. There is no cure. There is no end.”

Barry's need to rail back, to fight—to _defend_ —reared up, but then he exhaled with a slump in his chair. “Perhaps we simply need to find the right answer.”

This boy was foolhardy indeed, but not because he was wily and selfish. He was kind and wanted everyone to have what he sought.

“Maybe that’s for another day,” Barry said before Len could answer, not pushing, merely leaning forward on his knees as close to Len as he could get without being in the trench with him. “Tell me more, majesty.”

“More?”

“About your favorite tales maybe? What tomes have been your favorite?” Barry looked curiously around them, leaving talk of the curse behind as if it changed nothing of his opinion of Len and his court. “What types of stories warm the mighty Ice King? Always… romance?”

Len couldn’t express, didn’t dare, that the only thing that had warmed him in over two centuries was sitting right in front of him. “Have you never ventured into those depths, little prince?”

“I have.” Barry blushed. “In books anyway.”

Len didn’t want to inspire pity, but the truth was it was always romance he pursued, because after years of dallying with no substance, now he could have neither and substance was what he craved.

Though dallying still held its appeal too.

Len couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken this freely. Not to Mick. Not even to Lisa. But with Barry, it all came easy. “My favorite was a rare tale, because it wasn’t traditional romance, but the love story was clearly between two knights who appeared to be best friends. The author must have been trying to tell the real story in secret. The truth was in the underbelly, waiting for anyone clever enough to see it.

“The knights, both men, never once kissed or intimately embraced, and yet their passion and loyalty to was stronger than most obvious romances I have ever read.” Len smiled to remember it, how the knights were the perfect examples of stalwartness, especially when protecting each other, and he’d often close the book to imagine unwritten scenes where they ravaged one another.

“What was it called?” Barry asked, looking around again as if eager to find it on the shelves.

“I can’t remember. You’ll have to see if you can find it.”

“S-seriously?” Barry balked. “That could take years without knowing the title!”

The amusement Len had been feeling, the soft, wonderful warmth Barry instilled in him, went suddenly cold, as he recalled that years wasn’t part of the bargain. “When do you plan to leave?”

The truth must have washed over Barry too, his expression shifting to somber, and then hesitant. “You’ll let me leave?”

Somehow, Len had forgotten that he’d initially promised not to. “I require that you stay two weeks to prove you aren’t an enemy in disguise. After that, the choice is yours.”

Because after two weeks, Barry would know the final secrets of the castle.

They spent hours trading stories, Barry perusing the shelves and occasionally finding a tome that he loved and placing it on Len’s pedestal for them to read his favorite passages. Len almost could have forgotten that he was a monster in a ditch, unable to touch the young prince who stood just out of reach.

They might have stayed hours more if Barry’s stomach hadn’t grumbled.

“Is it lunch time already? Let me put your book back for you.” Barry traded out the book he’d been reading from, careful to return to the exact page the original book had been on. “If it’s any good, majesty, perhaps you’ll loan it to me. I’m good at imagining a princess is someone else too.” He flushed, ever so quick to slips of phrase that he didn’t seem to intend.

Len stood to head back into the tunnels, while Barry started for the door, but then stopped with a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, um… you could come with me, majesty. I know you don’t eat but—”

“I have very specific places I tread, little prince, or it leads to messy clean up. And we don’t have quite that much potion to spare for everyone.”

Barry hadn’t shivered once during today's audience, and he didn’t now, though his potion had to have warn off. “What company do you keep,” he asked, and then smiled as he finished, “when bothersome princes aren’t around? Oliver, I suppose? The other soldiers with Master Mick?”

He guessed that because they were the only people he’d seen Len with, but the truth was, Len was usually alone. “Not often.”

“Then…?”

Len couldn’t answer, but Barry didn't leave him at a quiet stalemate for long.

“Then I look forward to tomorrow.” He bowed, and only after Len nodded, did he turn to take his leave.

Len had almost made it to the entrance into the secret passages, when he looked back and, realizing he was indeed— _again_ —alone, decided he would stay and read, and maybe the title of that long-forgotten book would come to him.

XXXXX

Barry was hungry but also distracted as he left the library and contemplated all he had learned. One phrase from the story of the Fairy Queen had stuck with him, though he hadn't dared mention it aloud.

_When his heart melts..._

The curse could be broken. The Ice King didn’t believe it, but Barry knew it could be. He just had to figure out how to melt the beast the king believed he'd become.

He may have gotten a little too distracted and excited, because he didn't know this part of the castle, and he was definitely lost, he realized, with no one else anywhere around. Looking behind him, he wasn’t sure he knew how to get back to the library now either.

“Left unattended, pretty prince?”

Barry jumped at the appearance of Hartley, fading into existence at the end of the hall. “I don’t like that name,” he said, harsher than intended as adrenaline tore through him.

“Oh? Which part?” Hartley’s grin gave its usual teasing twitch.

 _Either_ , Barry thought, but then, he’d started to think that he did want to be prince if he could make his time as one count and become a good king. 

“Strange you wouldn’t want to be called ‘pretty’,” Hartley went on when Barry didn’t answer. “Do I sense a story there?”

Barry’s cheeks flushed with shame, and his instincts were to deny it and keep that memory to himself, but Hartley’s transparency reminded him of what he’d promised.

Relaxing his stance, he walked toward the invisible steward. “After Cisco was sent here, when his next birthday passed, I drowned my sorrows at the tavern. A couple men tried to take advantage of that when I was alone on the street.”

Hartley’s expression slackened.

“Our master of arms came to my rescue before anything happened, but they called me ‘pretty prince’. Now, it just makes my skin scrawl now.” He shuddered to think of it and wrapped his arms around his middle, as he came to a stop before Hartley, floating leisurely in front of him.

“For me it was ‘darling’,” Hartley said, causing Barry’s eyes to snap up and look at him directly, “though we were still indoors. I was drowning my sorrows over my parents kicking me out of our home. The brutes who had me wouldn’t let me out of the corner. Had me boxed in at the least visible part of the tavern, blocking any view to freedom or a savior.

“Then _our_ master of arms saved me, long before he was made of flames. Funny isn’t it?”

“Funny?”

“How different people in different lands at different times can still have the same story.” Hartley smiled, he always smiled, but there was sadness to the expression now and the slightest sweetness that Barry realized was the real Spymaster beneath his sharp-tongued guise. 

How many of the people here, like Barry, crafted armor to protect themselves?

Maybe all of them.

“So… Barry it is then,” Hartley said and grinned with a little of his usual impishness, “even if you are still pretty. I’ll show you to the dining hall.” He turned, and Barry followed.

He hadn’t seen Hartley since yesterday—since the argument he witnessed between Hartley and Axel. “Did I say or do something earlier that I shouldn’t have?”

“Meaning?”

“You and Axel seemed upset yesterday. Was it something I did? Or maybe something I can help with?”

Hartley paused. “You didn’t do anything, and you can’t do anything to fix what’s wrong. I’m… maybe not the most tactful person in the room most days.”

“You hurt Axel’s feelings?”

Hartley glanced over his shoulder. “When you’ve pushed people away all your life, it isn’t easy keeping them close, even after years of practice. Who we were in the beginning always…” he paused again, lifting the palm of his hand to stare at, “…haunts us.”

“And who were you?” Barry asked softly.

Hartley smiled, and while he was still an imp, the comradery that had been missing before shown brightly in his pale eyes. “An ass, couldn’t you tell? Come on. I can hear that lovely lean stomach of yours grumbling. Axel’s headed to the dining hall too, wondering if one of us _ate_ you.”

Barry chuckled as he continued to follow Hartley. He forgot sometimes that the Spymaster could hear all that went on in the castle. Smoothing a thumb over one of his palms, he thought back to yesterday again, which brought his eyes down to his sword belt. He’d worn it again today, though there hadn’t been a need.

The smaller sheath for his dagger glared emptily back at him.

“I was so grateful to Axel for healing my hands, I forgot all about reclaiming my dagger. I promised to steal it back. I don’t know how stealthy I can be though. I tried to be with Widow Caitlin, and she caught me straight off.”

“I know.” Hartley glanced back again. “I saw.”

“In my defense, I was stealthy enough to swap places with the sacrifice!”

“Were you? Or was it because those guards were terrible? Caitlin is good. Axel is better. If you want to steal that dagger back, you’ll need to catch him unawares.”

“Best I learn the castle without getting lost then.”

“There are other ways. Do you know how I sneak around so easily?”

“You’re an invisible wind?”

An airy chuckle responded. “Also…” Hartley stopped before they crested another corner to tap a place on the wall that opened into the secret passageways.

“Of course.” Barry peered inside. “The king showed me. Is it okay to use these?”

“As long as you’re invited. Left to start. I’ll direct you so you can learn.”

Barry nodded gratefully and ducked inside. As they went, he noticed elemental markings on the floor and walls that he hadn’t noticed with the king. There were ice trails, like always, but also scorch marks and occasional swaths of gold.

“Right next,” Hartley said. “These are important skills to learn, Barry. Stealth. Subterfuge. Misdirection.”

“Are you teaching me to be a thief?”

“Isn’t that what you asked? And if you want to avoid being targeted by a real one again, you should know how they operate. You can’t tiptoe after someone and think you’re invisible. Left.”

The direction came so seamlessly, Barry almost missed it, but turned left at the next fork.

“Balance is important to better distribute your weight. Even your breathing too. Most people breathe louder when they’re trying to be quiet. Find your shadows, the person’s blindspot, and consider ways to distract them the opposite direction from your approach.”

Barry attempted to do all those things as Hartley mentioned them, even as he was still safely in the passageways.

“And finally… stop. Listen for the right cues, almost like a meditation, to drown out everything but what you want to hear— _without_ closing your eyes.”

Barry had been about to close them but resisted, keeping as still as he could with even breaths. He could hear Axel! And Cisco! They were just ahead, almost directly beyond another secret doorway.

The openings parted silently, so Barry took the risk, pressing his palm against it. Not a sound came as the door slid open, and Axel and Cisco’s voices became louder. They were discussing Barry and where he might be since no one had seen him since morning.

Pausing before stepping out, Barry considered the way their voices carried. Cisco faced toward him, but Axel faced _away_ , which was when he noticed the alcove across from him. For once, Cisco not being able to school his expressions might actually help.

Barry stepped into the corridor, waving to get Cisco’s attention, who looked immediately startled, prompting Barry to dart quickly to the opposite side of the hallway.

“What is it?” Axel asked, turning as Barry had expected.

“I, umm…”

“Is someone in the passageway?” Axel approached it, left open with no sign of Hartley inside, bringing him perfectly into view of Barry with all his attention elsewhere.

Barry crept forward, hands going for his dagger—

—only for Axel to spin, grab his wrists, and twist. The next thing Barry knew, he was on his back, staring up at his friend’s face.

“You sneak!” Axel cried joyously. “You almost had me. Who showed you the tunnels?” He helped Barry up with a firm hoist of his forearm, and the way he and Cisco laughed, made it impossible for Barry to feel like a failure.

“The king showed him first.” Hartley appeared, just suddenly there in the hallway with them.

Axel’s mirth dropped.

“He needs to learn, doesn’t he?” Hartley said. “As it turns out… _Barry_ isn’t completely useless.”

“He isn’t?” Axel said.

“Not entirely. But don’t you have lunch to get to?” Hartley blinked away again, as quickly as he’d come.

Barry wasn’t sure how to read the pleased expression on Axel’s face, but since he still had much to learn, he gave a simple promise as he and his friends headed down a more familiar hall. “Just you wait, Axel. I’ll get that dagger yet.”

XXXXX

Len was so engrossed in his book, calmer than he remembered being in a long time, that it was almost sundown before he realized the day was over. He retired, unable to watch Barry since night was upon them. He didn’t need to spy, but he still had the urge to, if only to see Barry for as long as he could.

Which he didn’t think would include sharing their audience time with others.

“There are certain places in the castle I don’t go,” Len said when Barry requested that he accompany him the next morning.

“I know, but I also know that you have ways to get anywhere in the castle, so that is not an excuse. As long as we take the tunnels, the cleanup can’t be too bad. Don’t you miss spending time with your subjects?”

Len sensed a trick, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. “We don’t have enough potion—”

“What do you think this is for?” Barry hefted the rucksack he’d brought to Len’s chambers, which clattered with an obvious collection of potion bottles. “Caitlin helped. We’ll choose one room a day, and she said she can keep up with that demand. Today, we’re going to the tailoring room. Go on.” He motioned Len toward the entrance into the tunnels. “I’m sure you know the way.”

Len stomped his foot in irritation, being told where to go in his own castle, but no gust of bitter wind or show of strength affected the prince—not anymore. Len had no other recourse but to obey.

An opening of the tunnels did not go directly into the tailoring room, but it was only a few steps to the door. Barry knocked before entering, warning all inside that they had a guest, before Len slowly ducked under to join him.

The small group of people inside bowed, as Barry went around, handing out potions. None of them seemed surprised to see Len. Barry had told them ahead of time. And Lisa, in the corner, looked so smug, turning spools of thread into glittering gold.

“You realize I can’t touch anything,” Len grumbled at Barry.

“I know. But I believe you have a keen eye, majesty.” He returned to set his now empty rucksack aside. “Shawna and Lisa are helping me with two doublet designs, and I’d love your thoughts.”

Shawna was indeed there, one of Len’s most capable hunters, foragers, and artisans, and one of the first who’d become taken by Barry. She brought over two swaths of fabric, one a beautiful emerald, and one a deep sapphire blue. She also held a square of practice cloth with various example stitchings.

“I taught our Emerald Prince this one,” she showed Len a hemming stitch in perfect little squares, “and he taught me the other,” she shifted to one resembling diamonds.

“And Lisa can do two types of gold thread,” Barry added, snatching up a couple finished spools. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

One was the usual yellow gold, but the other was silvery white. The way they glittered was quite enchanting, and Lisa glowed with pride in a way Len hadn’t seen in years.

“Very beautiful,” he admitted.

“I was thinking yellow gold for the green, and white gold for the blue,” Barry said, “but which stitching for which? I’d like to practice both.”

“I don’t have the skills—”

“It’s not skill. It’s your opinion, which I value very much.”

That rare warmth filled Len’s chest. He considered the fabric, the thread, the stitches. “Squares in gold. Diamonds in silver.”

“I thought so too.” Barry beamed, brilliant as ever. “Do you want to see how each is done?”

Len sat in the corner of the room, slowly frosting the stones beneath him, but those with him didn’t seem to mind. While Barry sat close to show Len his stitching, Shawna chatted too, and the others did as well, bringing their creations over for Len’s commentary.

A bitter part of him wanted to say—what did his opinion matter, when no one had seen him in clothes in two hundred years—but he held his tongue, because they all looked genuinely pleased to have him there and appreciative of his response.

After Lisa had turned a small pile of thread into dazzling additions to their trimmings, she whispered, “Still waiting two weeks?”

“Yes,” he said without falter.

He’d wait longer if he could. Once Barry knew everything, he’d be ready to leave.

After that, no longer did they take their audiences alone. Day after day, Barry dragged Len all over the castle using the hidden passageways, like to the alchemist tower to assist Mark, Cisco, and Caitlin. The widow was no longer cold to Barry, but gentle and patient, as she taught him basic transmutation, which he took to as adeptly as sewing.

Barry wasn’t quick with everything, however. He really was awful with a bow when Oliver tried to teach him, but they considered it a win when he finally hit the target—albeit not the actual target but the stand holding it up.

He was better with a short sword and mastered quickly how to handle two, trained as equally by Shawna as Oliver. His old short sword was left in his room, replaced with twin blades made of hard steel and gold-colored hilts, forged by Mick’s own fire.

“Where is Master Mick that I might thank him?” Barry asked when Shawna presented them to him.

“He’s... around,” she'd said.

Each day was mixed with an audience with Len and adventures throughout the castle, Barry learning much, becoming one of them, even though his time there was only temporary. Not a soul was left in the castle after that first week who thought Barry didn’t belong. He became even more popular as he learned favored bard tales, singing them at dinner, sometimes alone, sometimes with Cisco or Wynn or both, or giving a pretty refrain to accompany Axel’s spoken verse.

Barry confessed to Len once, traveling through the tunnels after spending time in the music room, that he wanted to write something to honor his mother.

“You can. If you desire privacy to write it, you needn’t only use the music room when others are there.”

“But I don’t know how to write it yet. It doesn’t have an ending.” He smiled somberly, only to startle. “Majesty, I never thought to ask. What of your mother? I’ve only heard you speak of your father, the king.”

If anyone else had broached the subject—if _Barry_ had on his first days—Len would have grown angry, but there was very little ire in him left where this young prince was concerned. “A quiet, lovely woman, given to my father, not in love, who couldn’t keep her light alive after Lisa was born. She’d borne too much by then, and I don’t only mean me.

“My father, the life she’d been given, it whittled her away. She died before Lisa was a year. No one is meant for a life they didn’t choose for themselves.”

The gentle affection and understanding Barry offered still caught Len off guard, but despite Len's beastly form, Barry never shied from looking him in the eyes. “I am sorry, majesty. We have much in common, even the sadder things, the harder times, the losses, but I am glad I have come to know all we have in common that is good.”

He turned to continue on, and it was just as well, because the warmth Len felt then was so intense, he’d swear he felt a drip of water streak down his icy face.

There was less need to spy on Barry after so many days, but still Len did, if only to keep that warmth tended to like a smoldering fire. It had not yet been two weeks, but a long ten days, when Len watched Barry head down to the cellars at the behest of the kitchen staff who adored him to fetch a few bottles of Mark’s wine to bring up for dinner.

Mick was there, sitting at the tasting table, with several bottles already and a goblet before him.

“Master Mick, what are you doing down here?” Barry asked. He hadn’t crossed Mick’s path since the training yard.

“Waiting for nightfall,” Mick grumbled, and then turned and saw who had joined him. “It’s you.”

“It is,” Barry answered and sat beside Mick, closer than most would dare, especially after almost being burned.

Mick sat up taller, his flames dimming to a soft orange. “You got a death wish, princeling?”

“No. But I haven’t seen you lately. I never got to thank you for my swords. They say you forged them especially for me.” Barry wore them now and touched their hilts with reverence.

“Didn’t want you falling like an idiot again,” Mick said, shifting uncomfortably, but it would be difficult for him to get up and leave without shifting too close to Barry. “Those swords are perfectly balanced.”

“They’re magnificent. I didn’t realize you could forge. Did you make all the weapons in the castle?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

As usual, Barry wasn’t deterred, but gave a gentle laugh. “I doubt the king thinks so.”

Mick wasn’t much of a talker, and Barry did indeed talk incessantly, but for once, he sat still and quiet, waiting for Mick to speak again.

“If you’re going to stay, then drink with me,” Mick barked, moving the empty goblet toward Barry.

“But you can’t… o-okay,” Barry stuttered, taking the open bottle and pouring a little to fill it halfway, only for Mick to huff disapproval, so he filled it to the top.

Len had seen Barry drink before. He could manage a glass or two, but anything more than that left him utterly sloshed.

Barry started with a small gulp.

“Pfft.” Mick’s next huff produced a burst of flame like a dragon snorting. “If you can spew so much out of your mouth, then you can take more too.”

The flush that filled Barry’s cheeks was not from wine alone, though Mick didn’t mean it the way Hartley might have. Regardless, Barry tipped the goblet back to bring the wine nearly below half again.

Mick snatched the bottle to fill the glass back to the brim. They sat close, enough to make Len nervous, especially with Mick plying Barry with more wine, but Barry wasn’t shying away, and it dawned on Len how much Mick might need this.

Len hadn’t seen Mick much either in the past week. He should have been the one to check on his friend, instead of neglecting him. He’d spoken to Mick, but he never knew what was right to say when any accidents—actual or just close calls—always felt like they were his fault, since none of this would have happened without him.

Yet there Barry went, being everything Mick needed just by being himself, undaunted and friendly, like a pillar of virtue.

That was it! That was the title of Len’s book, the one he hadn’t been able to remember, resounding suddenly in his head— _Pillars of Virtue_. The knights in that story had displayed all the chivalrous pillars—courage, mercy, hope—and the sexual tension had fueled many of his adolescent fantasies.

He watched Barry now, much like those knights, not pushing Mick to talk about what had happened, but simply being with him to show that he wasn’t afraid or resentful.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Barry said, even as he tipped back his next few gulps.

“That’s coz you’re a twig. Keep training with the fletcher and Shawna. You’ll toughen up.”

“And you, Master Mick?”

“Suppose so. If you take good care of those swords. And learn to hold your liquor.” Mick pounded the table, flames bouncing across the wood but never catching fire.

Barry took another gulp. “My only wish is that you could be drinking with me. Perhaps someday.”

“How ya figure?” Mick straightened again, watching Barry closely, and for a moment, Len worried about what might happen next.

“No curse lasts forever,” Barry said.

 _Naïve and ignorant._ But oh how his hopefulness was infectious, because it made Mick laugh. “Says the twenty-year-old.”

“Twenty- _one_ ,” Barry corrected.

“Nothing left to learn then?”

“I have everything to learn. And I’d like to. Everything I can. Including about you, Master Mick, if you’ll tell me.”

“I’m no bard,” Mick said with a wrinkle of his nose.

 _Lies_. Though maybe not spoken.

“If every story was the same or told the same way, they’d be very boring indeed,” Barry said.

He drank, not saying more, until eventually, Mick began to talk. He didn’t look at Barry, and he didn’t tell stories of the castle, as Len would have expected. He spoke of a quiet boy with a hard father and a too-soft mother—very relatable for Len—but who’d always been seen as too brutish to think for himself.

None of it was likened to a life Barry cold relate to, but that didn’t matter to the young prince. He listened, and he drank, until Mick ran out of things to say.

Barry was on what must have been his fourth glass of wine, slurring a little as he said, “I’m sorry, Master Mick, if my stumbling scared you.”

The silence stretched, but finally, Mick answered, “Me too.”

When next the quiet broke, it was with a hum, followed by the tentative flow of song.

_A raging fire must first be lit  
By sparks we plan or cannot see  
Tended slow to not burn out  
But watched to calm when it burns free_

_Hark! The fire in all  
The fire in you  
The fire in me_

_Oh gentle hearth that crackles warm  
Others’ care is who you’ll be  
Consuming pyre or saving grace  
The choices made save you and me_

_Hark! The fire in all_  
The fire in you  
The fire in me 

_The fire in all who long to be_

Barry chuckled and took another gulp from his goblet.

“You just made that up?” Mick gawked at him. “Right now?”

“I did. Drinking must agree with me,” Barry said with the start of a hiccup.

“Barry!” Cisco exclaimed, rushing down the stairs with Lisa close behind him. “Where have you been? They suddenly remembered in the kitchen that they sent you down for wine, and you never came up.”

“Mick!” Lisa scolded, seeing the state of Barry when he turned to his friends with a wide, rosy grin. “What did you do to him?”

“He’s the one who wanted to drink with _me_ ,” Mick protested.

“I made a new song!” Barry said too loud at Cisco’s ear, when he hurried over to heave him up from the table. “It’s about, um… fire! I think… Yes, definitely fire!” He burst into giggles, and Mick chuckled with him.

“You’re not so bad, Emerald Prince.”

“You too, Master Mick! A true de- _light_.” He giggled again, all semblance of sobriety gone.

Cisco looked exasperated but mostly amused, and Lisa soon smiled too, sharing the warm expression with Mick.

“Come on, Barry.” Cisco hefted him toward the stairs. “It’s almost nightfall. Lisa, can you grab a couple bottles for the kitchen?”

While Cisco brought Barry upstairs to feed him water and bread and whatever else he could get into him, Len decided not to follow. He headed for the library. There was a mere twenty minutes before sunset, but although Len still didn’t know where to find his favorite book, now, he knew its name.

And he was determined to find it.

“Hartley!”

XXXXX

Sobered and not at all sick or miserable feeling thanks to water, nourishment, and some combined healing from Axel and Caitlin, Barry slogged upstairs to bed. Everyone had adamantly made sure he was okay before taking their leave of him, but he’d assured them he was fine.

Mick was one of the few remaining in the castle who he hadn’t spoken to at length, and while Barry didn’t fully remember everything about their hours together, he was confident he’d made headway.

He still wasn’t sure about any of the lyrics from his song, but maybe Mick would remember…

Barry was tired when he got to his room, so tired that he almost didn’t notice the book lying on his bed until after he’d removed his sword belt and doublet. It was beautifully bound with red and gold lettering to state the title and two jousting knights carved into the leather.

_Pillars of Virtue._

It had to be the Ice King’s book, his favorite, he’d said, about two knights who might have been written as in love if the author had been bolder or lived in a different time. Barry had never read it, but to find it like a gift waiting for him felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever given him. Surely, it was only to borrow, but still. The king must have had Hartley set it there, for there was not a single mar of ice upon it.

If it wasn’t nighttime, Barry would have gone to the king right then to express his thanks and ask if they could read the first chapter together. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed anywhere near the court’s private chambers after dark.

He needed to tell someone though. Barry had accomplished so much in his week and a half being there. If he was right that ‘melting’ the king could break the curse, surely a gift like this meant he was close.

To melting him back to Len—because they were _friends_.

Barry clutched the book to his chest. He didn’t even know what Len’s real face or body looked like, only his eyes, and yet, he couldn’t help wondering…

Couldn’t help wanting…

He had to see Cisco.

Still clutching the book, barefoot in his trousers and untucked shirt, Barry rushed next door and knocked.

No answer.

“Cisco! I’m sorry if I’m waking you, but I need to talk.” Barry knocked again.

Still nothing.

He knew Cisco was a light sleeper, and Cisco had definitely said earlier that he was going to bed.

“Cisco?” Barry tried one more time, but when once again, no answer came, he opened the door.

Cisco wasn’t there, but several candles were lit—and a secret tunnel passageway was open right into his bedroom!

Barry clutched the book tighter. Cisco wasn’t the type to go snooping around, but then, where had he gone?

Edging closer to the passageway, Barry peered inside. There were torches lit along a path leading to the right, like a beacon telling Barry where Cisco must have tread. He followed, and the further along he went, the more he noticed swaths of gold on the walls like he’d seen elsewhere, but here there was only gold, no sign of ice or scorches.

The path eventually stopped at another open tunnel entrance. Barry was cautious, but his curiosity had been piqued too much to not go in. The room on the other side was opulent, with plush pillows, a beautiful vanity, elegant dresses in wardrobes, and a wall covered in jewelry hanging for selection.

There was also a dress, a pair of trousers, a shirt, and various other clothing in a pile on the floor.

And a bed, with bodies on it moving, and the distinct utterance of a familiar voice that _moaned_.

“Cisco?!”

Covers tumbled from the shoulders of the most visible occupant on the bed, revealing Cisco’s brown skin and the pale limbs of someone tangled with him. He yelped when his eyes met Barry’s and scrambled to cover himself better.

“Barry! How did you… _when_ did you… why are you here!?”

Barry was too mortified to look away, staring open-mouthed at having caught his friend in the throes of passion with what he soon saw was a very beautiful brunette. “I’m sorry! I-I saw the tunnel open, a-and I didn’t realize, I…” Still staring at the woman’s face—grateful as he was that he could only see her _face_ —it suddenly struck him that he had seen that face before. 

In a portrait.

“Lisa?!”

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's strange times - I believe that calls for smut!
> 
> Also, please note, that I forgot last chapter that I meant for the doublets Barry is making with Lisa's gold thread to be a blue one and a GREEN one, not a red one, so I changed that, if you're confused later by the color swap. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Lisa looked human.

Normal.

Just like her portrait.

The curse was already broken!

“It’s only at night!” Lisa cried, sitting up fully, while holding the sheets to her chest. She was radiant—blue eyes like her brother, wavy locks of soft brown hair, and tanned youthful skin. “The curse still stands, but what we hadn’t yet told you, Barry, is that we get reprieve when the sun sets.

“I’m sorry. We’re vulnerable after dark, so we always wait a full two weeks to reveal that secret to newcomers, ever since… we were betrayed.”

Her sorrow made Barry sag and hug the book more closely against him. “The thief,” he whispered. She meant the statue in the garden of the thief who’d tried to run after killing one of their own. They couldn’t risk someone untrustworthy discovering that they could be killed too if the time was right.

No wonder the court was still sane and able to rule well if, after dark, they existed as they once had been and could touch those they held dear. Cisco hadn’t fallen in love with someone out of his reach. He already had her.

Which meant all the other members of the court were human now too!

“Barry!” Cisco called, as Barry turned and fled back into the tunnels.

He ran anyway, returning to the entrance into Cisco’s room but moving past it, certain in his use of the tunnels lately that he knew how to reach each of the court member’s chambers. Or at least how to get close enough to find their wake trails like Lisa’s tunnel was covered in gold.

He had to know. He had to see for himself if the same was true for all of them.

First was Master Mark in the alchemist tower. He and Mick both left scorches, but Mark’s were finely focused like jagged lines of lightning. The closer Barry got to the tower, the more concentrated the scorches became until they suddenly stopped.

Pushing on the wall where they disappeared, Barry revealed another door, leading into another bedroom, this one filled with alchemist tools overflowed from the laboratory.

With another pair of moving bodies on a bed, hidden by covers.

“It’s true!” Barry cried joyously, issuing a feminine yelp and rustle of sheets before Shawna appeared with her usually pinned hair wild and curly about her head.

“Barry! How—?”

“What are you doing here?!” Mark shouted, far more angry than surprised.

Shawna sat atop his hips, keeping the sheets around them, but Barry could see Mark’s face. He never would have known it was Mark if not for his voice, but that was indeed the wizard. He could have been a brother to the fletcher really. He and Oliver shared the same blond hair, the same rugged scruff of a beard, and blue eyes.

These eyes didn’t give Barry pause, however, or wonder at Cisco’s vision, since he knew this man was another one spoken for.

“You were all so obvious, yet I didn’t see it,” Barry said, unable to keep the smile from his face, because the court was not made of the lonely creatures he’d thought. “Axel…” he said in realization and turned once more to dash back into the tunnels.

“Where are you going?!” Shawna yelled after him.

“Wait!” Cisco cried not far behind, as he and Lisa gave chase.

Still, Barry ran, elation fluttering in his chest, finally understanding what Cisco’s friends had in common.

He didn’t know where Hartley’s chambers were, but he knew Axel’s. It only dawned on him now that he had seen evidence of a wind elemental in those tunnels and in Axel’s room more than anywhere else—grooves in the stone like decades of erosion.

There wasn’t an exit directly into Axel’s room, but there was one outside it. As Barry burst forth through the main door, Axel spun around wide-eyed in the middle of his room, in the process of changing for bed but still dressed.

“What is that rack—ah!” Hartley appeared— _naked_ from the wash area—and clutched a robe he’d been carrying between his legs. “Don’t you knock?!”

He had blue eyes too, though Barry had dismissed Hartley long ago, fair though his face may be, and clearly, he was also taken.

With color filling his usually translucent form, his cheeks held a warm glow, dark hair messy and damp from bathing, with the otherwise same slender form Barry had seen floating.

“You _were_ fighting about me,” Barry said, “because Hartley kept saying lewd things to me!”

“Axel forgave me for that!” Hartley defended.

“Barry…” Axel dragged a hand down his face. “We—”

Barry spun on his heels to continue his journey, pushing past Lisa in a silken robe and Cisco in a barely held up pair of trousers.

Only he couldn’t reach the tunnels this time, because Shawna and Mark were coming out of them, equally half-dressed, and Mark looked far less understanding than everyone else. His physique matched the fletcher’s too, but Barry didn’t have time to admire it.

Sprinting the other way, he mapped out in his mind which tunnels would best lead him to the basement. He vaguely remembered from his drinking with Mick that the master of arms said his chambers were down there, close to the wine and ale. Now Barry knew why: he _had_ been waiting for nightfall, so he could drink when the sun dipped below the horizon.

“ _Stop_!” Cisco tried again, but Barry knew his stamina could outlast them all.

The only thing he didn’t know was who he’d find with Mick.

Ducking through another doorway into the passageways, Barry had three couples chasing him, as he worked his way to the lower levels of the castle, finding larger scorch marks with smears of blackened soot along the walls.

When at last the scorch marks stopped, he found the expected door.

“Barry!” Caitlin yelped—from a _desk_ , with a large, imposing man standing over her shoulder, both fully clothed.

This room was more utilitarian but covered in parchment and scattered tomes, which surprised Barry, as it seemed Mick was dictating to Caitlin what to write.

“She’s my _scribe_ ,” he growled, like some hasty defense.

Mick was as broad and burly as Barry could have imagined, with mild scruff, a mostly shaven head, and pale eyes that also looked blue. Every single member of the court had blue eyes, but none of them were the eyes that mattered to Barry.

“He doesn’t have anyone, does he?” Barry asked Caitlin, turning equally imploring eyes to Mick. Hearing the others pour into the room behind him, he turned to them as well. “He doesn’t, does he? I know he doesn’t. He _can’t_.”

“Barry,” Cisco said with a sigh, reaching out to touch his arm—only to gasp.

 _A vision_ , Barry thought as he surged forward, realizing then that he still clung to the king’s book, and Cisco’s slack expression made him clutch it tighter like salvation. “It’s him, isn’t it? It has to be him.”

“I… I don’t know.” The strange expression on Cisco’s face didn’t change, but he blinked the vision away and gave Barry’s arm a firm squeeze. “I didn’t see the same thing. I’m not sure what I saw… There was a woman with dark skin in brilliant finery, and… and someone in armor of the Emerald Kingdom, bookending you like some prize between them. You guarded someone from them that I couldn’t see.”

“The _king_ ,” Barry said without falter. “It’s him, Cisco, it has to be, and I stand before my love, between my kingdom and the past.”

“Your love?” Lisa repeated, stepping from the others—Mark and Hartley, looking annoyed, and Shawna and Axel, smiling in delight. Lisa’s robe was neatly tied now, black silk trimmed in gold, painting her even more as the beautiful figure that had to be a sign of how beautiful _Len_ was too.

“Just as all of you found someone,” Barry said, “I am meant for him. That’s why I’m here. My purpose here. I’m sure of it.”

“Hang on,” Mick said, no change to his gruff voice even with lacking flames. He held a goblet, finally enjoying his wine. “Don’t get any ideas that we’re… together like that.” The faintest color filled his cheeks as he said it, and he wouldn’t meet Barry’s eyes, something mirrored in Caitlin, which told Barry that, despite their protests, they clearly wanted what they hadn’t yet had. “She helps get my ideas down, that’s all. Nothing like these rutting maniacs.”

“Rutting?” Mark threw back. “Shawna ignored me for a week because of that brat. Who is _useful_ ,” he amended when Shawna glared at him, “and not all bad most days, but I’m still allowed my ire!”

“Maybe sometimes you take for granted what you have,” Shawna shot back. “You don’t need Barry’s presence to require occasional reminders.”

“Sounds familiar,” Axel muttered.

“You forgave me!” Hartley cried again, looking rumpled in just the robe he’d been clutching earlier, with Axel fully dressed.

Axel pulled Hartley against him, quieting him in such a sweet, reflexive manner, that Barry had to keep his smile. He was right. He had to be right. They’d all had lessons to learn, but they’d needed someone to melt their hearts as well, someone who had nothing to do with this place in the beginning—a sacrifice freely given.

Wasn’t true love always the epic end to a curse?

“I only found Cisco a year ago,” Lisa said, taking his hand to pull him close too. “They’ve all had each other for decades. I’ll rut as I like.”

Cisco blushed far darker than Mick or Caitlin had, a beautiful hue, because Barry had never seen him so happy.

“Four days left, and we have to do this in _my_ room?” Mick grumbled, taking a gulp of wine.

Barry turned to him, to all of them, understanding that he had broken the rules, however unintentional at first. “I’m sorry I made you all run, but I had to be sure. I understand now why you said fourteen days. Any shorter could allow a swindler to betray you as that thief once did.”

A solemn expression touched each of the court members, as it had Lisa, but she was the one who spoke. “We told her the truth after six days, so certain she posed no threat, just another one of us welcomed into our company. But then she knew, you see, that we were vulnerable at night.”

“But… the king did freeze her,” Barry said, confused, as the implication was that she had betrayed them while they were flesh and blood.

“She planned her theft early morning, just before the sun rose, but she should have given herself more time. Before she reached the gate, the sun was up, and Lenny caught her. Before then, she still got to one of us.” Slowly, Lisa pulled aside the edge of her robe to reveal a scar beneath her collarbone.

“The king said she killed an elf,” Barry scrunched his brow in further confusion, “someone with… beautiful magic.”

“It was beautiful,” Lisa said softly. “Healing magic. The thief got to me first, knowing my chambers held the most gold. I gave chase, even with my injury, and he saw us in the halls. He tried to stop her, but she was too swift for him.

“I was already weak, but I struggled to help him, and sweet thing that he was, he still tried to heal me, even as I was trying to stop his bleeding, flowing so much more freely than my own. I… I was still touching him when the sun came up…” Her delicate hands clenched into fists, and Barry didn’t have to ask what her touch had done.

Cisco slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned gratefully against him.

“I understand why Lenny wanted to wait with you, Barry,” Lisa said, “as we have with everyone else since then, but I also don’t want to let the past haunt me. None of us do.”

As Cisco held her, the others all vigilantly silent, Barry recognized why the princess had only found love so recently, despite two hundred years having passed. It was too difficult for her after causing someone such awful harm. Though Barry also believed she had clearly needed to wait for the right person.

He had not seen any statues made of gold, however, and wondered what became of… accidents. 

“I swear to you still that I am not your enemy,” Barry said. “I never will be. I don’t only want to understand your curse and change my kingdom. I want to break this curse and save everyone.”

“And you think loving Len will do that?” Mick asked skeptically.

“Could have skipped the interrupting us part,” Mark muttered, and Shawna smacked his chest.

“I don’t even know his face, yet I feel…” Barry stroked the cover of the book, holding it out in front of him to look at the carved leather. “I know the days have been few, but as each one passes, I find myself more amazed by him. With our audiences, I always want them to last longer.”

“You love the king while he looks like _that_?” Hartley sneered.

Barry couldn’t truly say he loved the king, but the draw he’d felt for only a scant few, it was the same for Len as for anyone he’d ever lusted after. “If not yet, then I think I could. I need to see this through, to know his feelings in return. To truly know mine. Only then can I be certain if it’s enough to break the curse.” 

“What do you intend to do now?” Lisa asked.

“I intend to see him. Would any of you stop me?” Barry hugged the book once more.

There was a shift of glances between them.

“That’s the book the king had me scour the library for,” Hartley said.

“Yes, and place on my bed.”

“I didn’t place it on your bed.”

Barry’s eyes snapped up from looking at the cover again.

“The sun was already setting,” Hartley explained. “He ordered me out of the library after I found it. If it ended up on your bed, Emerald Prince, then he’s the one who put it there.”

The resolve in Barry strengthened, knowing the king had been in his room, risking getting caught after nightfall.

“You are a wily one,” Mark said, trying to pull Shawna against him like the others, which she allowed after a weak show at struggling. “You might even be right.”

“He means _mad_ ,” Hartley said, and then in lieu of Axel elbowing him, added, “but we’re certainly not going to stop you.”

Mick and Caitlin were different, quiet, stubborn creatures, maybe only commiserating in their misery, though Barry did wonder what Mick had Caitlin write for him. Still, they were hopeful sentries with Caitlin rising from the desk to stand beside Mick, both offering encouraging nods.

Lastly, Barry looked to Lisa and Cisco, his first friend among the court, and his oldest friend of all. Whatever Cisco saw when he touched Lisa, it filled his face with peace and fondness that Barry hoped to one day know for himself too.

“Wish me luck,” he said and turned, one last time, for the tunnels.

XXXXX

Len’s real chambers, his private rooms that he never entered during the day, saving it from his horrible ice trail and frigid touch, sprawled beyond his frozen throne and the main entrance into the hidden passageways. No one else was allowed here, ever, but especially at night, when his earned isolation was absolute.

He couldn’t bear to see his own face, his own form, so no one else could either. While the rest of the court looked as they once had when night fell, Len, just as his curse was different during the day, doomed to leave an icy residue and stomp upon the ground like a plague, wasn’t the same when he was human either.

He was _human_ , but the damage…

Sitting beside his bath as it filled with heated water, he hated what little of his skin he could see, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His rooms were warm, as warm as he could make them, but he still started most nights with a soak. He never seemed to get warm enough no matter how hot the water or how many layers he wore or blankets he piled on his bed. He rarely slept anyway, since the need was gone with the clutch of the curse. He dreamt though, daydreams of what might have been if he hadn’t been such a fool all those years ago.

The washroom had steps up to the large bath and many wardrobes around it, and continued further on to his bedroom, where Len’s large bed sported four ceiling-high posts and heavy bedcurtains. Closer to the door was his antechamber and study. Lisa loved her gold, but Len had always preferred silver, even if it was less kingly. His rooms were the same, covered in those colors, in stone and cool woodgrains and varying shades of blue.

The rug that adorned his study led beneath several bookcases and his desk. Behind the desk wasn’t a normal chair but his original throne, which had once been in the dining hall when it was still a true ballroom. Len had brought it here as a reminder, closeting away what he hadn’t been able to live up to.

The throne wasn’t wood but polished white stone painted in gold and silver. It was too grand to sit behind a desk and as tall as Len’s ceiling, blocking much of the view toward the bedroom and bath. Len preferred it that way, preferred to be blocked off from everything.

He ran his fingers through the warm water, deeming it high enough to turn off the pump, and tried not to cringe at the sight of his ruined skin.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to think of anything else, something good, something sweet—and wondered if Barry had discovered the book yet.

“Majesty?”

Len’s eyes flew open.

XXXXX

The door wasn’t locked. _Why bother_ , Barry supposed, since no one would dare do what he was doing now—ignoring the very serious mandate to never disturb the court at night.

Well, not the _king_ , Barry knew now, yet he was encroaching on the king’s privacy anyway, untidy without his doublet and clutching an old leather book to his chest.

“Majesty, I know you’re here,” Barry called again, softly shutting the door behind him.

This was a king’s chambers indeed, the grandest Barry had seen tonight. They seemed to go on forever beyond the antechamber with an overlarge throne behind an ornate desk. And it was so warm, the coziest room in the castle, balking blatantly against the chill on the other side of the door. Only the door itself and a bit of the floor right in front of it remained wet and cold, where the king must stand to let his form change before entering or exiting.

“Please, majesty, I didn’t mean to discover your secret. I only went to speak with Cisco and found…” Barry trailed off, nervous amidst the silence that greeted him. Still, he crept forward toward the desk with its elegant throne. “I saw Lisa. I’ve seen everyone now. All that remains is you.”

Even as Barry came around the desk, he heard no sound. Maybe the king hadn’t returned yet. He’d been in Barry’s room. He might have gone somewhere else. But then the barest peek toward the washroom showed that the bath was filled with steaming water, ready for someone to sink into it.

“Don’t be angry. You can’t leave me this gift and not expect that I’d want to say thank you. There is so much I want to say to you.” Without any rustle of noise or answering voice, Barry sighed and turned to the desk, his back to the washroom, as he moved beside the throne and set the book down, peering over the desk’s contents.

In the center was a crumpled piece of paper smoothed out like the king had thrown it away and then changed his mind. Barry picked it up.

_The noble prince went on his quest—_

The air knocked from him as a body slammed up against him from behind, arms wrapping around his own to pin them to his body and causing the rumpled paper to drop.

“You come into my room and rifle through my things?!”

The _king_ , his voice unmistakable—with _his arms_ wrapped around Barry.

Barry didn’t dare move but couldn’t help leaning subtly against the warm body pressed to him, not some large, hulking figure, but a man, about his own height, with tan arms, much of the skin visible, as the sleeves of a simple shirt were rolled up.

“Forgive me,” Barry said, holding still and forgetting the parchment, as he made to turn his head.

“ _Don’t_. You will not look. You will not see me. If you do, I swear, I will throw you from the window you first climbed through.”

The words were cold, but the body was warm, as he held Barry. He _held_ Barry, touching him, which had to be the first time he had touched anyone since—

The king squeezed so tight, Barry gasped for reprieve.

“P-please! I won’t look!” he promised, keeping his head forward but glancing down at the arms around him, at the glimpse of skin and humanity and…

 _Scars_ , countless scars, covering so much of the king’s arms that Barry hadn’t noticed for how many overlapped and ran together.

“Is this what you wanted?!” the king roared, shaking him. “To see the true, _ugly_ me? Ugly and earned, have no doubt about that.”

“No, I… I could never think you ugly, majesty, no matter what the rest of you looks like. Please, I have seen too much beauty in you to see ugliness.”

The hold on Barry slackened but did not release. “Then you are a fool. You learned our secrets early, which means I can choose to cast you out or imprison you, maybe freeze you come morning.”

“You won’t.”

“So bold and foolhardy, little prince?” The king’s voice was ice where his touch was not, sharp and biting, but Barry saw through him.

“No, but if you had such hatred for me, you wouldn’t have left me that book. _You_ left it, Hartley said, not him.”

A puff of air disturbed the hairs on Barry’s neck, as warm as the room and enough to make him shudder. “Damn gossip.”

Barry smiled, because the king hadn’t denied it, and his hold was loose now, just their bodies flush and those arms around him. No one had ever really held him before, besides a brief embrace, and certainly not like this, intimate and caging. Barry should have been unnerved by it, but the king never instilled that feeling in him.

“I won’t look if you do not wish it, majesty.”

“I do not. But I also do not believe I can trust you anymore.”

“Then let me prove myself again. Let me know you. Isn’t that what we promised?”

“You _broke_ our promises.”

“I didn’t mean to! It was an accident. You can ask the others.”

“Was coming here an accident too?”

“No. But I hoped you might make an exception to that.”

Another silence said the king wasn’t sure what to do or whether he dared release Barry—and honestly, Barry did not want to be released. He felt improper stirrings low in his belly at being so securely detained by the mighty Ice King.

“May I ask…?” he ventured quietly, still looking at the scars and seeing a hint of the king’s bare feet beneath too. He was otherwise dressed like Barry in only a shirt and trousers, by the feel of him.

“Part of my punishment,” the king said, hot and close at Barry’s ear. “I don’t feel pain. Or, if I do, I have grown too used to it to notice. The others become their element at sunrise, but I am trapped inside. Every day, these two hundred years, the ice cuts deeper. I don’t have wounds come nightfall, only the scars.

“If you came here looking for a handsome face that only looks unfortunate in sunlight, you are mistaken.”

The harshly spoken words did not change the stirrings Barry felt. “That does not matter to me. It wasn’t your face that first showed me who you are. A face is not what warms someone the way knowing them can. The way… a touch can.” He lifted his hands just enough to alight a soft caress on the king’s forearms.

A howl was the only precursor to Barry being slammed onto the desk, the king releasing him only for a hand to press to his shoulder and another at his lower back, keeping him down. The king’s hips were close at the curve of Barry bent to his will.

“I will not touch you,” Barry swore, biting back an unbidden moan, “but if you asked… oh, majesty, if you asked… I would, and I would welcome you touching me.”

The grip on Barry faltered. The king wasn’t hard behind him but very present along Barry’s backside. “You know not what you ask.”

“I do. Believe me, I do.” Barry arched backward, as bold as the king had accused him of being. His captor might not be hard, but Barry was, twitching in reaction to being pinned when he knew there was no danger. “Please,” he said, shifting his legs to spread wider and splaying his arms across the desk.

“I saw you,” the king said in answer, and for the first time, Barry felt the king tremble. “I… watched you like some depraved animal.”

Barry tilted his head, though not so much as to risk peeking over his shoulder.

“It was your second night in the castle. I watched you, I am always watching, but I saw something that night that I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t turn away. I tried, but you… undressed and retired without snuffing out the candles and reached down your body beneath the sheets.”

Recognition made Barry throb at the thought—that the king had _seen_ him.

“That’s how I knew your desires, because I heard you speak them while touching yourself, longing for a ‘him’ instead of a queen. You think you know me, but I have not changed since the days I bedded my stable boys.”

“But you have,” Barry said, not sobered or ashamed as the king surely wanted him to feel with that admission. All he could imagine was those brilliant blue eyes on him while he stroked himself in candlelight. “I’m glad you told me, and I forgive you. All I ask is that you offer the same mercy to me. Forgive my coming here… and give me what I beseeched of the fates that night. If you want me, take me." He flattened more wantonly on the desk. "Take me and let me know your touch.”

The hand on Barry’s shoulder loosened like it might lurch away, but the one on his back shifted, sliding down his hip slowly, and then hungrily over his ass with a firm grip, as the king twitched tellingly where he teased between Barry’s thighs.

“ _Yes_ ,” Barry gasped. “Please… let me be yours.”

“I forbid you to look at me.”

“Not once will I attempt to see you, majesty, unless you ask it of me.”

“I will not. And I will not give in again. This is only for tonight.”

Barry gave no answer to that, because he refused to believe it would be true.

He closed his eyes.

The king squeezed his backside again, and then brought both hands to the line of his shirt and tugged it from his trousers. His hands raked up Barry’s skin beneath the shirt, and though even his palms felt scarred, that did nothing to diminish Barry’s wanting.

With an insistent tug, the king tore the shirt from Barry’s head, returning his hands to travel down the same route they had gone up. Even without seeing him, the contact offered a promising thrill. Barry didn’t care how many scars marred the king. In his mind’s eye, he conjured a powerful, faceless man with those intense blue eyes, wearing a blue doublet with white-gold stitching. Before knowing the king became human at night, Barry had already been making it for him.

Textured palms slid around Barry’s waist, up his chest and down like had been done to his back, feeling him everywhere with slow precision. Long fingers spread over every part of him, applying the perfect pressure to make him shiver. With the king’s hips pressing in flush against Barry’s, a lone hand strayed beneath the band of Barry’s trousers, through the coarse hair there, and right to his burning flesh.

No frantic touch of his own could compare to someone else wrapping their fingers around him or passing a warm thumb across his slit. Barry whined, hips rocking in reflex, which both pumped his cock into the king’s hand and pressed the curve of his ass against the hardening length behind him, but Barry’s trousers were too tight for the king’s hand to move much while merely down the front of them.

“Take them off,” the king ordered, slowing his strokes through Barry’s increased wetness. 

Barry fumbled to obey him, hands trembling uselessly, but once he got the ties undone, his trousers fell loose to his ankles, leaving him naked and still bent over the desk for whatever came next.

Sordid tales of romance told Barry what came next. Basic anatomy, secret whispers, the instinctive straying of his own hands—he knew what came next, and he longed for it in ways no solo pleasuring or pining after a man could satisfy.

The king was still dressed though, still holding Barry down and stroking him, making Barry’s belly hot and his loins ache. “Please, majesty. _Take me_ ,” he said again.

“So impatient, you don’t even know how much more pleasure there is in waiting.” His grip tightened, but the movement of his hand slowed, an agonizing slide, as the king’s hips began to rock forward, subtle teasing of his clothed cock between Barry’s cheeks.

“I _have_ waited… My whole life I’ve waited, please.”

“I will, but you need to slow down.” The king’s free hand pressed so hard on the middle of Barry’s back to keep him in place, he had trouble taking a deep breath. “Do you want me to hurt you? Because it will not feel nice if I fuck you raw like you think you want. There is an art to this, little prince, like clothing crafted or a bard tale composed. Do you understand? Or do you want the culmination to be a disappointment?”

The warning came with immediate reprieve, the pressure on Barry’s back lessening, while the hand between his legs gathered every bit of slickness leaking free and pumped harder. “S-slow,” Barry conceded. “Whatever pace you set.”

The whole of the king’s body molded over Barry, the feel of soft fabric tickling his bare skin, and then breath tickled his ear, as the king whispered, “Good little prince.”

XXXXX

Barry was a virgin, of that Len had already been sure. Long as it had been since he’d known the feel of another’s body beneath his hands, he couldn’t simply _take_ Barry, thrusting like some drunk in the back of a tavern. But if the young prince was so needy, so full of lust and certain that he wanted Len to be the first to ravage him, then this act was going to be savored.

Barry hadn’t shied from his touch yet, not the feel of scars or the brief glimpse of them on his arms. Len couldn’t bare for those emerald eyes to land on his full form, but he could accept Barry’s body as tribute, eyes closed and unseeing as Len devoured him, to make up for the slight of crossing his threshold.

After all, Len was the monster of this story. He would take his tithe like a troll beneath a bridge, and it would only prove his point. 

That was why he chose to give in, because he was owed, and Barry had asked, and there had to be a balance, an exchange of power that kept Len in control. If he gave too much to Barry, he didn’t know what might happen.

Rolling up from lying over Barry’s body, Len brought the hand not touching the prince to the ties of his own trousers, letting them drop and his length free. He teased the budding wetness at its tip along Barry’s crease, and the whine Barry released was more enticing than any stable boy Len had ever had.

“Reach back,” Len commanded, much as he enjoyed Barry’s arms akimbo on the desktop. “Touch me as I’m touching you.”

Pausing for breath, Barry brought his arms in first to lift up and not crush his cheek to the wood when he reached back, left hand grasping for Len until he had him.

“Feel how hard I am?”

Barry gave an initial, shaky stroke. “Yes.”

“I’m not yet where I will be.” Jutting his hips forward, Len dragged his tip along Barry’s crease again, so he would understand his size and that he was not yet full. “Keep on. Get me there.” Len rocked into Barry’s hand and against those parted cheeks, his arm coiled around him to continue offering similar strokes—an infinite loop of pleasure building.

Each pump from Barry’s hand pressed his own knuckles against his backside, and the tip of Len kept teasing there too. In turn, Barry’s motion rocked him into Len’s hand, with mewling whimpers and gasps spilling from his lips. Despite the pooling wetness between them, however, it wasn’t nearly enough.

And Len couldn’t prepare Barry the way they were now.

He stilled his hand and grabbed Barry’s wrist with the other. “Do you want me to stop?”

“ _No_!” Barry cried. “Please, majesty—”

“Then don’t open your eyes. I will stop and banish you from my sight if you do.”

“I swear!”

Len released him and stepped back.

“Majesty—!”

“I am only disrobing. Stay as you are.”

The sight of Barry’s body displayed, open thighs, cock dripping that he could faintly see even from this angle, peeking lewdly at him, made it difficult not to stroke himself to completion just from the view. Len kicked away his trousers and threw off his shirt.

“Get your boots off and the rest of your clothes from around your ankles.”

Barry did so without using his hands or shifting much from how he remained bent over the desk. He seemed to like that position, and Len might have kept him there, but he had better supplies in the other rooms.

Barry’s skin was a perfect pale swath of peach, lean muscles down his legs, taught shoulders, narrow hips, and a budded entrance waiting for a slick touch…

“Majesty?”

“Still impatient, little prince?”

“No. Well, yes, but… I will keep my eyes closed, but please, I want to pleasure you as well, whatever ways you want from me.”

Len stepped back toward him. “Being inside you will accomplish that.”

“Y-yes.”

“But…” Cupping both spread cheeks before him, Len squeezed the flesh being offered, his cock bobbing forward with its ready tip. “Your mouth would be a good start if you wish it. Eyes closed now.” He hooked an arm around Barry’s knees and scooped him into his arms, eliciting a quiet gasp. Lumbering like an ogre had made Len stronger, or perhaps Barry, for all his height and long limbs, was simply that light.

The prince flailed to cling to Len’s neck but kept his eyes closed as promised. Sure steps brought Len into the bedroom, hard and weeping though he may be, and he laid Barry upon the bed with his feet facing the top. Barry seemed reluctant to be released and dropped his arms slowly from around Len, fingers brushing lightly across Len’s cheek. There were scars there too, but Barry remained content without flinching as he stretched upon the bed.

Turning from him, Len went to the bath to gather oils. Barry didn’t disobey by trying to steal a glimpse, merely craned his ears and waited.

“Have you decided then?” Len asked when he returned.

“Majesty?”

Len gave his length a few firm tugs before setting the items he’d gathered on the bed. The back view of Barry’s prone form had been tempting, but like this, Len could see the lines of his hips pointing to tantalizing hardness, wet and scarlet red. His lips were equally colored, pouty and parted, as if already answering Len’s question, “If I may have use of your mouth?”

“O-oh…” Barry blushed far too prettily, too virginally, for Len to not want to have those lips on him every way he could, but he needed Barry to say it. “Y-yes, majesty. Gladly yes.”

Climbing onto the bed, kneeling at the foot, with Barry’s head between his knees, Len began to lower himself. Sensing the heat nearing his face, Barry tilted his head back and opened his trembling, salivating mouth to take Len in.

And oh, the _heat_ —Len had forgotten how good it felt to be enveloped by such warmth. He trembled as Barry trembled, the prince’s hands clutching the sheets with nothing else to hang onto and sucking him in a good two, three, four swallows without stopping. Len’s moisture was lapped up, but Barry’s mouth’s own watering overflowed past the corners of his mouth, just as his eyes began to water too. Yet he swallowed Len in again—and _again_.

“Slower,” Len barely bit the word out, afraid the young man, supposedly inexperienced, would cause himself to choke. He had unknown talents, because he didn’t gag as he pulled off, little by little, the same way he’d swallowed Len down. “What was that… about never frequenting brothels? Perhaps not as a _client_.”

“I-I’d never—”

“I know, but then you are a natural.” Len dipped to Barry’s lips again, and Barry sucked him in past the tip without prompting, further, _further_ , and then off.

“D-does that mean I please you, majesty?” His mouth looked sinfully red and shiny with drool still leaking from the corners.

“You could please me more.” Len dropped his hips more insistently, forcing Barry to take half of him at once, but from there he let Barry control how much he was willing to swallow. Inexperience gave way to instinct as Barry found a rhythm, taking Len in and out, _in and out_ , a little deeper each time.

No bath, no clothing, no covers had made Len feel this warm in centuries, rocking down between the pliant lips of the Emerald Prince.

“Keep on… but touch yourself while you do.”

A grateful hum responded, Barry’s left hand twisting firmer into the sheets, while the right found his length with practiced ease and started pumping madly.

“ _Slower_. But suck harder.”

Barry whined, so close to finishing, Len knew, because he could see his hips stuttering and stomach clenching with the need that wasn’t being met. Len needed it too. He was having trouble keeping his thrusts into Barry’s mouth civil and controlled. How easy it would have been to fuck that mouth raw, willing and open beneath him—but Len wanted this to last, wanted Barry’s thighs quaking from a much better connection.

“Up. Forward on your knees. Now.” Len lifted away to keep from listing to one side as he calmed the mad thrum in his ears and reached for the oils.

“But majesty—”

“ _Now_.”

The strain in Barry’s face as he stopped stroking was pitiable, but he simply didn’t yet know how much better this could be. He listened, lifting with effort to get onto his knees, head pointing the correct direction now, as he leaned onto his forearms, keeping his ass up and his knees parted.

Len squeezed himself to still the growing ache, made no easier by that sordid sight. He’d leave Barry a blissed out, gibbering mess if he did this right—and he intended to.

The oil he chose was thick and moisturizing for after a bath and smelled faintly of cedar and roses. The large bed barely shifted with his slow crawl toward Barry, but he knew when Barry was aware of just how close he got, because he thrust his hips backward.

“So warm…” Len said, cupping Barry’s ass, while his oil-slicked fingers trailed down between his cheeks, teasing lightly at the puckered skin.

Barry mewled and thrust back harder into his touch.

“So sensitive and desperate too, but you have to be patient... so you don’t spill all over my sheets when I first _press_ ,” Len reached the waiting entrance that flexed at his approach, giving way the moment he pushed in the tip of a finger, “inside.”

The moan Barry released was perfect with an added and surprising, “ _Len_.”

The utterance made Len falter. He’d heard Barry say it before but not directly call him that yet. In such a plaintive voice, it made him want to wring more sounds out of the prince.

“Is this what you envisioned?” Len twisted his finger in deeper.

Unintelligible murmurs replied.

Len took that as permission to begin a gentle thrust. Barry was tight but open enough that a single finger found its way inside without trouble, discovering the slick curves that would soon encompass Len. Barry stopped trying to hold himself up and became a limp and submissive puddle, weak sounds of discovered ecstasy catching in his throat as he rocked back and back and _back_ to pull Len in deeper.

Len twirled a second finger over Barry’s hole, picturing the way the prince’s lips had twirled around his head. He pressed the second digit inside.

“Ah!” Barry’s head snapped up with a pained gasp.

 _Virgin_ , Len reminded himself, returning to only one. “You’re tight.”

“Th-that’s… good?”

“It can be. But too tight hurts. I won’t be fucking you tonight, little prince.”

“But majesty—!”

“I will not hurt you. But I can still give you a taste and take my pleasure too.”

Removing his fingers entirely, Len dripped more oil to coat them, finding that the slide of two fingers, even eventually deeply thrust, made their way in more easily after a time. With each renewed twist, Barry’s tension receded, any signs that it was too tight or painful banished, as his breathing picked up in their stead. Still, Len could tell that anything more would be too much.

He started his thrusts slow but gradually began to increase his rhythm. Fresh whines floundered off Barry’s tongue, fingers clawing into the sheets like before, with his forehead pressed to the mattress.

“Oh… oh… _Len_ ,” Barry moaned again, as Len fucked him with a kind hand, his own length leaking rivulets onto the sheets behind the entrance he so wished he could ravish. “Are you c-certain you can’t—”

“I am. But I promise the taste I do give you will be sweet.”

Thrusting deeper and harder and as fast as he could, Len soon had Barry crying out in unrestraint, made even more vocal by Len reaching around him with his other hand to grip Barry’s soaked member and pump in time to the twist of his fingers.

The dual touch upon Barry brought Len’s hips closer, his hardness finding refuge against Barry’s thigh. The searing hot skin made Len moan with Barry, forgetting he was supposed to be the composed one. He wanted to come. He wanted to pull Barry there with him. He wanted to fuck his sweet prince until stars exploded behind his eyes and they woke up somewhere else.

“Please… please…” Barry begged, and Len’s mind went blank with his own need, fingers retracting to grip his length, position himself at Barry’s entrance, and _push_.

Another pained gasp brought Len to his senses.

“ _Please_ ,” Barry said again when Len tried to pull away.

As a lesson, as appeasement, Len returned his head and pressed just enough to risk its breach, waiting for Barry to tell him no.

The prince took in several sharp breaths but said nothing.

Len risked another shift forward, a faint pop resounding as Barry gave way and encircled him fully around his head.

Barry bit his lip as if to keep from crying out, rocking away from Len to pull him with him, and then back again to bring him in deeper. The moan he released encouraged Len, but the panted breaths sobered him. He couldn’t go any harder or deeper than this, but he could do _this_ and drive Barry over the edge with him.

Not once did Len cease his pumping of Barry’s cock, thrusting rhythmically behind him in turn but only as deep as his head—in and out, in and all the way out again. It was torture to not pound Barry into the mattress but also bliss, because it had been so long, and no one had ever felt this rewarding to make sing.

Barry’s utterances were more like pleas for mercy, but mercy to be allowed to come, not out of discomfort. Once Len’s urgency grew desperate too, he pulled back from breaching Barry and slid his shaft up along Barry’s entrance instead, seeking friction, wetness, _warmth_ , and receiving all in abundance.

“ _Please_ ,” Barry continued to beg of him, but Len would do no more, only increasing his pace and allowing every few passes of his cock to press its head inside again.

Finally, Len’s firm grip brought forth a yielding cry of satisfaction, and Barry sagged, deadweight beneath him. Feeling the sticky proof on his hand, Len kept on faster, seeking oblivion and the sweet relief that only another body could provide, that only Barry had been able to provide quite like this, and then—

Len shot across the curve of Barry’s inviting crease, staining his skin in opalescent streaks. He sagged as Barry had sagged, collapsing atop him. At last, he'd had his prince, not as fully as he wanted, but so… so good.

Pulling away to relax back on his ankles, Len took in the sight of Barry once more, face pressed to the sheets, eyes closed, with his ass ripe and used now with Len’s claim all over it. Nothing had ever looked so beautiful.

“You are a sight… little prince.”

Barry smiled, half invisible against the mattress, but as blissed as Len had intended. Len wanted to mold himself across that gorgeous form again, but first, it needed to be cleaned.

“Do not open your eyes,” he warned again. 

“Yes, majesty,” Barry whispered like an exhale. “I am content with your touch.”

XXXXX

Barry had never known such pleasure. No touch of his own could compare. No other indulgence either. The limpness he felt without injury—well, without dire injury, for he would certainly be sore tomorrow—was indescribable and made him incapable of movement or protest as the king lifted his spent and soiled body from the bed.

A few short moments later, he felt himself lowered into a soothing bath, smelling of lilacs, whereas the substance the king had used to ease Barry’s pleasures had been headier. The king’s release that had stained him was rinsed away, and Barry went even more boneless, afraid he might sink right down, until a firm body climbed in behind him to act as anchor.

Like that, with the king wrapped around him, Barry could feel his scars everywhere, but it stirred no wince or need to withdraw, only a deep pity for a man who did not deserve this punishment. Maybe once he had, but not anymore.

“Majesty… if I swear to keep my head forward, may I open my eyes to see the room?”

“I suppose.”

Barry wasted no time, vision unfocused at first from keeping his eyes closed for so long. The washroom was dim but lit by candles, large and luminous with multiple wardrobes filling the corners, the bath itself up on a pedestal, just as Barry would have imagined for a king. His father’s washroom was not nearly so grand, however.

The king was not yet fully softened behind Barry, a solid presence reminding him of how they’d intimately but also only barely connected. Barry understood why. Too much _had_ hurt, his body unused to such experiences. He’d only ever teased himself there before, but even that brief, small conquering from the king had been incredible.

Resting gratefully back against the body behind him, Barry fought every impulse in him to not disobey and look. This close, however, with the king’s arms coming up to hold him in place, gentler than they’d held him at the desk, Barry noticed something unexpected just out of eyeline.

A wisp of white hair.

Barely containing the smile on his face, Barry settled more comfortably. “May I assume it gets easier with… frequency?”

A soft snort was the king’s response. “It does. Your body adapts. Is that why you came here tonight, little prince? For me to treat you like a stable boy?” One of the hands around Barry’s waist drifted between his legs where he was spent. Still, the touch made him twitch in the king’s palm. “If you saw Lisa and the others, I’m sure you caught them in similar states.”

“M-mostly,” Barry said, mourning the king’s touch the moment he returned to merely holding Barry against him. “ _Mostly_ that’s how I found them all, I mean, not… That was not why I came to see you. If I had only wanted someone’s touch, I could have gone to another. I didn’t _want_ another.” He pressed his head to the king’s shoulder. “I wanted my love.”

The silence that answered was as torturous as if the king had brought Barry to the brink only to leave him cold. The cynical sigh he released as he drew his hands away completely was worse.

“You said as much the night I watched you, some… fantasy. I am not your love. We merely shared a night of passion.”

“You may think me foolish, majesty, but it is not fantasy. Cisco had a vision.”

“What?”

The pull to turn and look the king in the eyes was strong, but Barry held still. “Before Cisco was chosen as offering, he had a vision of my love. Well, what he saw was difficult to describe, he said, but it was… _love, death, and blue eyes in a sea of white_.

“There has been much death here, majesty, but there is still hope. Your court has all found someone to love. With Master Mick and Widow Caitlin, perhaps it is something different or moving more slowly, but they all have someone, even your sister, so content with my friend who never thought he’d find love of his own. Don’t you understand what that means?”

“That’s why you said blue eyes,” the king murmured.

“Yes. It’s you. You are my love, and I am yours.” Barry boldly reached to take the king’s hands that had fallen away. “We can be the final piece to breaking your curse for good.”

“Close your eyes.”

“A-alright.” Barry did so, unprepared for the sharp yank of the king’s hands and push forward as the body behind him got out of the bath.

“Wait—”

“Get out.”

“But—”

“You are going to dry off, get dressed, and get out of my chambers. And if you look at me, I will still throw you from the ramparts.” Those strong hands gripped Barry’s shoulders and roughly lifted him to his feet, forcing him to stumble out of the bath.

“I-I cannot dress blind!” he protested.

Still rough and harried, the king brought a robe that he used to pat Barry’s skin. Then he grabbed Barry’s arm and dragged him down the steps leading from the bath, across the stones, until at last he pushed him forward and left him, just a voice over his shoulder. “Dress and stay facing forward.”

Barry opened his eyes. He was back by the desk, where his and the king’s clothes lay in heaps. Much as this pained him, he grabbed his shirt and trousers. “Majesty, Cisco’s vision—”

“I am _not_ your love.”

“But you could be!”

“You said your _Eobard_ has blue eyes?” The way the king spat the name made Barry stagger trying to pull up his trousers.

“Yes.”

“You hoped it might be him once, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I…” Barry _had_ , but, “he’d never want me—”

“If he did, you would have gladly taken him instead. And at least he could be with you during the day.”

“You can as well!” Barry insisted, sliding into his boots. “We can break the curse—”

“There is no breaking this curse!” the king’s voice bellowed from only a stride behind him. “You are a silly romantic. Now get out. In the morning, you can leave for your kingdom.”

Barry snapped upright, dressed now but shaken. The king was dismissing him, but he would not let this be the end. “No.”

“No?” the king challenged back.

“I am not leaving.” Barry stood firm, clenching his fists in resolve. “The secrets of this castle were only part of our deal. I said we would know one another.”

“I think we know one another quite well, little prince.”

The memories of that, the smell of it lingering in the air, mixed with cedar and flowers, only made Barry more certain.

The crumpled verses on the king’s desk made him certain too, though he hadn’t yet read them. With the king behind him, and Barry at the edge of the desk, he reclaimed the book he’d brought, using that more visible act to hide how he snatched the parchment too.

“I said I wanted a way to save our kingdoms from all this madness. Breaking the curse will accomplish that, and I am not leaving until I do.”

“You—”

“I will prove you wrong,” Barry cut off the angry rebuttal, moving swiftly around the desk for the door. “And tomorrow, I will be ready for our next audience. Thank you for the book, majesty. Goodnight.” Without waiting for a response, Barry escaped, knowing the king would not follow, and fell back against the door with a shuddered breath, clutching his prizes to his chest.

Right there in the chilly throne room, he read:

_The noble prince went on his quest…_

It was a sweet and simple tale that ended as theirs just had, only they hadn’t yet managed to release the beast as the pair in the poem did. Even so, it proved Barry right, that long before tonight, the king had wanted him, wanted more, wanted freedom and connection and the love he denied himself. He’d nearly thrown away this parchment, judging by its creases, but he’d salvaged it. He did want what Barry offered. His heart was merely frozen.

Smiling as he held the poem and book close, Barry slipped behind the icy throne to return to the secret tunnels. Eobard might have been his choice once, but his were not the eyes that haunted Barry, and now, while Barry still did not know the true form of the king, he had a picture in his mind of blue eyes on a man with an un-aging, scarred face…

And white hair.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine continues and my love for this shows no signs of fading. 
> 
> Seriously, thank you all who are still reading, especially when taking the time to kudos and/or comment. It means so much - and is seriously so fun watching your guesses, many of which have been so right. You guys are amazing!
> 
> More to come!

Len didn’t rest that night. He dressed in clean clothes, drained his bath, and hoped that the smell of the oils would overpower any lingering scent of Barry.

They did not.

Not _enough_.

Time moved so slowly when he didn’t sleep, but he still felt it in his bones when the sun was about to rise. He didn’t need the sun to touch him directly, only for it to reach the castle grounds. As that moment drew near, he removed his clothes and went to stand by the door, so that as little of his rooms as possible were affected by his chill.

It didn’t hurt when the change took him, but it did ache, like reaching the end of a grueling fight—only a fight waged naked in the middle of winter. One would think he’d be used to the cold by now, but that was the one thing that never got easier.

He’d heard his court say that their changes merely felt like their stomachs dropping, a weightlessness overtaking them, as their true bodies faded. Len, conversely, was encased, but his body still felt like it stretched to fill his icy prison, mangled and pulled like he had mangled his kingdom. It wasn’t pleasant, by any means, but it was familiar.

Only, today, with his hands creaking as he clenched them into fists, there was a new ache that wouldn’t go away, like a dagger lodged in his chest.

 _Damn prince_ , Len thought with a sneer, and turned to open his door.

“Good morning, majesty.” Barry dared darken his threshold at the very crack of sunrise, prim and dressed and _smiling_ as he gave his customary bow from in front of the throne.

Len should have thrown him from the ramparts after all.

Stomping forward with as much booming tremors and speed as he could manage, Len fell upon Barry like the monster he was, getting closer than he would have ever risked with one of his subjects. “Do you know how easy it would be for me to end you right here?” he bellowed frigid breath in Barry’s face.

Like most days, Barry didn’t so much as teeter backwards. “Then do it,” he said with a maddeningly stable expression. “But I’m not leaving.”

Len had never known anyone to be so stubborn!

And he refused to listen to Lisa’s voice in his head saying— _he was_.

“I am not your love,” Len affirmed.

Only then did a flicker of heartache pass over Barry’s face, but that too was replaced with a determined smile. “Then be my friend. We were friendly before last night, weren’t we? We were starting to know one another—truly, not only… carnally. So, let us start again from there.

“Either way, majesty, I believe this curse can be broken. To manage that, my kingdom would have to see reason, rather than head down its own doomed path. Would you deny me that chance?”

That was _unfair_ , like a lowly highwayman using Len’s own past against him!

Fully aware of how conniving he was being, Barry kept his smile and gestured to the window—which was when Len realized his other hand held a leather-clad book. “It’s a lovely morning. I thought we’d read up on the ramparts to start today’s audience. Unless you’re still feeling an urge to throw me from them?” His smile dared turn into a grin, bold as ever.

Len couldn’t touch him, not without killing him, and the brat knew Len didn’t want that. He could ignore him, turn from the prince in silence and disappear into the tunnels, but Barry knew the tunnels now too and was not likely to be easily dismissed.

Rocking back on his icy haunches, Len huffed with a visible snort. “I might toss you to your demise yet, so _don’t_ test me,” he growled and motioned for Barry to lead the way.

 _Pillars of Virtue_ was not a love story but, to Len, it played out as one. The knights, Sir Wayne and Sir Kent, were stationed to guard a watchtower together, and initially seemed to clash. Wayne was stoic and calculating, while Kent was heartfelt and impulsive. They countered one another in every way, but because of that, they also balanced each other, and through their differences found things to admire in one another.

Their kingdom was constantly threatened by invading forces, and they were soon considered the lucky sentinels who, when on watch, always managed to ward off attacks or stop them before they became more than the kingdom could handle.

If it hadn’t been for the side story of Kent falling for a sassy barmaid who always knew what was going on in the kingdom, and Wayne’s cat and mouse with a female thief, the ending battle when Kent nearly gave his life to save Wayne, and Wayne was in turn bolstered to deliver the final blow to an attacking general, their reunion at the end could have easily culminated in a passionate kiss.

Len and Barry didn’t quite get that far into the story, of course, Barry reading aloud, his voice as lovely as if he were singing another bard’s tale. Instead, they reached the point when the knights were first starting to show respect and fondness for one another. Len had been listening less closely, remembering where the story led, looking out at the distant horizon beyond his kingdom, when he realized Barry wasn’t speaking anymore.

He turned his head to see Barry watching him, the book carefully marked with a ribbon to find their place later and set aside.

“Even this fictional kingdom with its stalwart knights doesn’t seem perfect,” Barry said with an easy sort of mulling. “There’s crime, corruption, unrest inside the walls and out. Tell me, majesty, if you could do it all again, what would you have done differently?”

“You mean, besides everything?” Len droned.

“I’m serious.” That earnest patience was very difficult to turn away from, so Len didn’t try. 

“I… wouldn’t have dismissed all the advisors. A few, certainly, but not the kind and competent ones. I would have stopped my philandering—well, lessened it—to focus on state matters. I would have listened to the people, not to give in to their every whim, but to deliberate and understand what I could truly provide them that would be beneficial for all.

“The way things work here now, everyone gets a voice, but there must still be consensus or there would be chaos.”

“Sounds like the castle is the perfect version of a kingdom.”

“As is my penance.”

Pity filled Barry’s face, and he gave a gentle sigh, but whatever Len expected him to say, it wasn’t quite what he did. “Why not, instead… a legacy?”

Len already had one—the dreaded Ice King, whispered about fearfully across the lands as a monster in a frozen castle. That was his legacy. Why did Barry insist that it could be anything else?

The young prince shivered, and Len noticed how high the sun had trekked.

“Forgive me, majesty, I’m growing cold.” Barry stood from where he’d sat on the edge of the ramparts, gathering the book beneath his arm. “I suppose our time is up for today. I had plans to visit the alchemist tower before lunch. Shall I see you tonight?”

“I told you—” Len startled at the bold request.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed. At least until you change your mind.” He bowed with a particularly mischievous smile, and then turned to leave before Len could protest further.

It was one of the few times when Barry offered to leave rather than Len insisting at the first sign of his potion wearing off. That would have been infuriating enough, but worse was how, more than ever, Len wasn’t ready to be without him.

He waited a reasonable amount of time before following, but once he did, before getting all that far from the main tunnel entrance in Len’s chambers, he heard Hartley’s voice ahead.

“First of all, how dare you go about as usual when something clearly happened between you and the king!”

Len tensed, keeping hidden behind the bend in the passageway.

“It was late!” Barry protested. “I went to bed. Then, this morning, I wanted to be early for our audience.”

“ _Barry_ ,” Hartley protested back, voice loud but drifting, as Barry must have been continuing along his path. “I heard you say you’re going to see him again tonight.”

 _Spymaster_ indeed.

Once Len was certain the pair had moved around the next bend, he followed, keeping his steps silent and his pace even to not give away that he was there.

“Technically, I didn’t _see_ anything,” Barry said, and then added in a softer, private tone, “but I did share his bed.”

Hartley practically squealed with glee, while Len continued to grimace, not that he’d expected the encounter to remain a secret. “Naughty prince. What’s he like? I’ve always wondered.”

“I-I can’t speak of that!”

“Sure you can. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“And as your friend, shall I remind you of what got you into trouble with your love the last time?”

Hartley gave an audible scoff. “I have never been unfaithful to Axel. I merely enjoy a nice view on occasion. After 175 years,” he muttered, “he’s more likely to be getting bored of _me_.”

“You don’t believe that.” Barry stopped; Len heard the stutter of his feet and stopped his own forward progression.

“That I’m boring?” Hartley returned to bright and undaunted. “Heavens no. I’ll ply those details out of you yet, _friend_.”

He poofed away, he must have, for Barry sighed like he had at Len, and the sound of retreating feet returned.

Back to invisible like a persistent wind, Hartley was probably now fully aware of Len’s tailing, but Len didn’t care. He followed Barry all the same, until the prince left the tunnels to enter the alchemist tower. Once inside, he was almost immediately pounced upon by people who could, in fact, _pounce_.

“Barry!” Cisco was first.

“What happened?” Shawna latched onto him next.

Len could see them all through his usual removed stone, and although Widow Caitlin could have touched Barry as well, she chose to remain reserved and stayed at the mixing table near Mark.

To Len’s surprise, Lisa was there also, the lot of them having gathered in wait for Barry, the meddling traitors. Hartley was one thing but—

“All of you?” Barry voiced Len’s own thought. Then he looked around and realized, “No Axel?”

“He’s about somewhere,” Cisco said. 

“And what about Master Mick?” Barry asked, looking to Caitlin, as Cisco and Shawna remained attached to him, dragging him into the room. “You’re his… scribe, he said?”

Caitlin had the sense to look uncomfortable with all this openness, not that any of their coupling was news to Len. He’d known from the beginning—Hartley told him everything, as was his duty—and it had never occurred to Len to question his court’s love lives.

They deserved reprieve from this curse, whereas Len did not. He was the cause, the center of it, not any of them. And each of them finding love did not mean he was destined to follow, or that, if he did, anything would come of it other than heartache and regret.

“Mick doesn’t generally enjoy group gatherings unless he can have a drink,” Caitlin said. “But ‘scribe’ is… accurate. He dabbles in verse, romance mainly, if you can believe it. He’s actually very good! But he doesn’t like others reading his work, or at least, not while knowing he’s the one who wrote it. He has many books in our library under false names. He’s not particularly fast with a quill, however, so he asks me to help.”

“He asks _you_ ,” Barry reiterated, seeming to enjoy the close press of his other friends on either side of him, “never anyone else, to help write down his romances?”

“He is a perfect gentleman!” Caitlin countered.

“Even gentlemen have wants,” Shawna said, and when Caitlin’s cheeks filled with color, she added, “ _and_ ladies.”

“Not that we need you coming around for the show again,” Mark announced to Barry, electric arms visibly crossed in irritation and sparking liberally.

“Enough of all that,” Lisa interjected, her golden form floating a safe distance in the corner, “what about _you_ , Barry? What of my brother? Did you stay in his rooms all night?”

“N-no,” Barry admitted with a flicker of sorrow, “but I was inside them.”

He proceeded to brashly tell them what he’d already told Hartley, including his inane ideals over Cisco’s vision and Len being his _love_.

“I may have acted rashly, but I refuse to believe I’m wrong. Unless…” Barry looked to Cisco, who had released him by now but had still been in contact with him for some time.

“I… can’t say for sure,” Cisco said slowly, “but it isn’t impossible.”

“See!”

 _Fools_ —all of them. 

“I had to see the king straight off when I awoke,” Barry continued, “but I came here next for more reason than just to offer you all news. The truth is, I have two missions now. To break the curse, of course, first and foremost, for everyone’s sake, including that of my kingdom. But as I work to melt the king, I also intend to find out what killed my mother, so that, when I return home, I can catch whoever did it.”

He turned imploringly to each of them, saving Caitlin for last, who didn’t seem surprised.

“Will you help me?”

Barry hadn’t spoken of his mother’s death since he arrived, yet now he believed he could catch the culprit? None of those with him laughed at the notion. In fact, they each offered heartfelt agreement to help however they could, even Mark.

“It’s going to come down to days, maybe weeks of experiments,” Caitlin said.

“Mark’s favorite pastime,” Shawna teased, catching her lover’s eye with a smirk. “That means more foraging together, Barry, trying as many different combinations as we can until we get it right.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me to try before…” Caitlin said softer, wistful and sad, only to bolster herself and hold her head higher, “but I think we know enough to figure it out. Discovering the right alchemist combination for whatever the poison was, however, won’t necessarily reveal who used it.”

“I know,” Barry conceded, “but it will help me narrow down who did if the person has used the same poison since.”

“And what of melting the king?” Lisa queried playfully.

Barry’s smitten expression was like a bright summer sun. “When we first made our deal, he asked me what my arguments would be to change the hearts of my people once I returned home. I think I know now. If love can truly break a curse, who could say that only certain kinds of love or the people experiencing it are good? I know the truth. I just need to convince him.”

 _Fools_ , Len chanted again. _All fools…_

But maybe he was a fool too, because it took feeling the burn of eyes on him to realize he’d been staring at Barry so intently, he hadn’t noticed when Lisa turned to look at him.

She couldn’t see him through the missing stone, it was far too hidden and dark, but she didn’t hide that she knew he was there. Her smugness made him glance away, bringing his eyes to his obvious ice trail, frost covering the stones beneath him and on the wall.

Barry used the tunnels. He’d see Len’s ice; he’d known he followed him, watched him, especially after Len admitted as much last night. Barry must have noticed other times these past many days as well…

Even so, Len stayed, unable to bring himself to retreat.

It was nearly lunchtime, so the small gathered crew only got so far as a plan for initial foraging that Shawna and Barry would see to later. Len followed afterward like a tether connected him, watching Barry eat in the great hall, where he met up with Axel, pulling him aside once the meal was done. Len hadn’t thought much of Hartley’s earlier mutterings, but Barry clearly had.

“He thinks I’m bored of him?” Axel said, stopping short in the hall where they’d found themselves alone. “That’s why he keeps trying to anger me?”

“It seems so,” Barry said with the gentle patience of a friend who’d known Axel for years. “I wonder if he’s so worried, he’d rather push you away than have you leave him first.”

Axel wasn’t usually the type to show candid emotion but more likely to grin and joke and distract, like the charlatan he’d once been. Now, he dropped all pretense completely. “The truth is… I’ve been fearing he feels that way toward me. How many lovers do you know who’ve been together almost two hundred years?”

“But doesn’t that only prove your love?” Barry said, hopeless as ever.

But Axel surprised Len with his certainty. “It does for me, yet I still feared the same thing Hartley does.” He laughed humorlessly and shook his head at his folly. 

Barry’s sympathetic smile suddenly dropped, and he glanced worriedly around them. “What if he’s listening right now?”

“No, I can always tell,” Axel assured him. “Technically, if he wants to know something, he can still tap into the whispers of the wind, even if they’ve already faded, but I can feel when he’s active. Surprising the Spymaster requires finesse, but no one is better up to that task than the man before you.” He gave a little bow. “I am going to prove Hartley is being a fool! Just like I was.”

“Not exactly what I was striving for,” Barry chuckled, “but I can support that.”

“Thank you, Barry.”

“Of course. You’re my friend.” He said it without waver, like he did most things—when someone wasn’t making him blush—and even pulled Axel in against him.

“Hey—!” Axel cried, after allowing the embrace, because Barry had just unsheathed the jeweled dagger from his belt that had originally belonged to the prince. “Deviant!” Axel laughed, failing to snatch the dagger back, as Barry held it out of reach. “Did you just use emotional connection to divert my attention?!”

“You left me no choice!” Barry said, even as he was laughing too. “I truly meant everything I said!”

Axel smacked his shoulder firmly, saying fondly, “I couldn’t be prouder.”

They laughed together, returning Axel to his usual mirthful self, and eventually, Barry held the dagger back out to him. “I think what I’ve learned most is that misdirection is best suited to each person’s individual strengths, but that was pretty low of me.”

“Oh no,” Axel raised his hands in surrender, “you earned that back fair and square. Unless I steal it again of course.” He winked.

Barry wore his sword belt every day now, having learned from experience that he could never predict when he might need it, the twin short swords Mick had forged for him hanging evenly on his hips, while an empty sheath on his ankle awaited the dagger. Barry slipped it there now.

“You never told me where you got that thing. Family heirloom?” Axel asked.

“Oh, um… no. It was a birthday present from my kingdom’s master of arms.”

 _Eobard_ , Len grimaced. Was Barry so fickle or did he not realize who truly held his heart if he treasured that gift so much?

“Maybe I’ll let you keep it this time,” Axel said. “Besides, I need to get to work on a grand gesture to set Hartley to rights and prove we’re idiots together. A new verse! Something especially for him. Would you help me find the words, Barry?”

“I’d be honored. And actually, I need help of my own, though more for a tune to go with something already written. Shall we go to the music room to work on our epics together?”

There he went again, being a hopeless romantic, even after talk of Eobard. Not that Len was jealous! Jealousy was pointless when… wait. Already written? Len hadn’t seen Barry working on anything recently that didn’t have mu—

The poem! Len’s own verse; he couldn’t recall if he’d seen it on his desk after Barry left last night. The prince really had learned to be a thief!

As Barry and Axel left to head for the music room, Len debated detouring to his chambers, but he was certain his guess was correct. And it was _not_ romantic or endearing!

Turning angrily to give chase through the tunnels, he had half a mind to burst into the music room the moment he reached it and demand Barry tear that crumpled parchment to pieces—only to find his path blocked by the golden smirk of his sister.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Stopping a thief.”

“Of what? Your cold dead heart?”

Len snarled and stomped the tunnel floor. “I am aware of the foolish notions that prince is trying to fill you all with—”

“Compared to what you filled him with last night, I think we’re allowed to form our own opinions.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Len spat, not that he could deny that part.

“Lenny—”

“Out of my way.”

“No. It seems you’ll have to push me,” she retorted, knowing full well he would never risk such a thing. “I know what you’re thinking, that it’s too late for hope. That hoping and being let down again might be more than you can bear. But you know Cisco’s visions are always right.”

“About leaks in the castle, infestations, lost items.”

“And sometimes important things too!” Now, she looked at Len in sympathy, in _pity_ , and he couldn’t bear that either. “When Cisco was first ushered into the castle, with so many people touching him, he saw a multitude of visions… and one of them was of the court’s forms at night.”

“What?” Len gaped. 

“He didn’t make it the two weeks, Lenny. He knew the truth before he was even presented to you that first day.”

“He _lied_ —”

“He didn’t want to anger you! He came to my room that very night to confess, that’s why I was the first to learn of his visions, and I agreed to keep his secret until the two weeks were up to avoid any rash judgments from you.”

“You fooled me—”

“Because Cisco saw that it would keep the peace, and he was right. The fact that he turned out to be lovely company as well happened to benefit me.” She reclaimed her smirk.

 _Fools_ , Len thought again and huffed. Love had clearly warped all his court’s minds! “The prince admitted to me that Cisco is not certain of what he saw in this vision of love. It’s a riddle. A guess! There is no reason to believe it has anything to do with me.”

“Don’t believe it then,” Lisa said instead of challenging him. “Maybe it isn’t about you. Or, maybe, even if it is, it doesn’t mean our curse can be broken. But _please_ ,” she floated the smallest bit closer, “if we’re stuck with this curse forever, then at least find some happiness for yourself like the rest of us. It took me two hundred years to find my love. Don’t wait all of eternity to find yours.”

At last, she left him, floating elegantly away to give him leave to go wherever he pleased.

Len was still angry, at Barry, at _everyone_ , but the bitter knots forming in his stomach made him loathe the idea of following the prince anymore today. It would only tempt him to chase fairytales too—like the unattainable ending to that poem.

XXXX

Barry spent much of the afternoon with Axel in the music room. Neither of them felt their work was close to completion after only a day. Barry wanted his tune to be perfect, and Axel wanted his epic to be unmatchable as well. They’d continue to help one another until both pieces were just right.

Before dinner, Barry and Shawna went out to forage for several specific items to begin their testing. After learning Caitlin’s story, he hadn’t been certain he wanted to go down this route. His father had given so much of himself trying to discover the truth of what really happened to Queen Nora and who was responsible. Barry didn’t want to lose himself to it too, but as the days had passed since hearing what had really happened, he hadn’t been able to shake the dream that he could finally put all this to rest for everyone.

Barry’s missions were clear to him, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment of his time in the Frozen Kingdom.

He and Shawna were late getting back for dinner, the sun setting before they finished eating, so he began to hurry to more swiftly join the king, even if he discovered the chamber door locked when he got there.

“What’s the rush?” Cisco asked. “I thought you’d want to spend more time in the tower tonight starting the experiments.”

“Discovering what killed my mother is only part of my goals here.” Barry wiped his mouth of his hurried eating. “There’s time for everything, but tonight, I have somewhere to be.” He’d only just started to get up when a commotion struck.

The members of the court—sans the king, of course—burst in from the back of the room up by the elevated table, and then came down amongst their people instead of sitting at it.

They were all human, since it was nighttime, and everyone in the castle knew about that—except they didn’t all know that Barry knew, and several people gaped and cast Barry nervous glances.

“What?” Mick called, leading the pack. “Didn’t you all hear? Prince Barry had a run about the castle last night.”

He looked much as Barry had seen yesterday, since he’d still been dressed at the time, in a simple sunset colored tunic—though in Barry’s mind, he imagined he’d look quite at home in heavy armor too.

The others Barry had seen in various states of undress, so it was different seeing them in normal finery, Hartley in similar dress to his usually transparent doublet, Mark in a long robe-like cloak befitting of a wizard, and Lisa in a beautiful gown of cream and gold.

“Now,” Mick went on, as he came to stand behind Barry at the center table, the other court members gathering close as well, “let’s see if I can teach our royal pain in the rear how to drink.” The slap Mick gave to the middle of Barry’s back nearly sent him into a coughing fit, and there was a loud chorus of cheers that rose up from everyone present.

“M-Master Mick, no, I can’t—”

“You can.” Mick wedged in between Barry and Cisco—who didn’t seem to mind once Lisa sat at his other side—while Hartley and Mark joined their respective partners. “I hear you bedded the king,” Mick whispered, “yet he’s still being an ass. Maybe make him sweat a little tonight.”

Dissent was readily on Barry’s tongue, but his words went stale. He hadn’t considered that tactic. He’d told the king he would come to see him. The king was _expecting_ him to try.

Maybe making him wait had its advantages.

“Seems the ruling came early!” Oliver rose his voice over the din, standing from the end of one of the long tables and raising a glass. “By decree of our own court, the Emerald Prince is fully initiated!” He thrust his glass higher in a hearty hail that everyone around mirrored, a full glass of ale being pushed into Barry’s hand as well that he knew from experience he didn’t handle any better than wine—but he was willing to try. “To the prince!”

“The prince!” the others cried, and although Barry had begun to feel at home days ago, a new warmth filled the crowded hall.

Even those who’d first sneered at Barry, like the fierce blond and her darkly colored elven lover, toasted him and offered welcoming smiles.

As for the king…

Barry clanged his goblet with Mick’s and took a hearty swig.

The king could wait.

XXXXX

Len was _not_ waiting for Barry.

But it had been hours since the sun set and where in the heavens was he?!

Len had planned to lock his door, deny any future knocks, and once again threaten Barry bodily harm if he didn’t stay away. None of those things could be accomplished without the prince’s presence! It was infuriating to be left sitting at his desk—where his crumpled bit of parchment was indeed missing—and tap his fingers without so much as a shuffle of approaching feet on the stones.

If it had been any other night, Len would be in his bath, enjoying a glass of wine and perhaps some bread and cheese. He didn’t require food any more than he required sleep, but he could still enjoy the taste after dark. Now, he wasn’t doing any of those things, too busy wondering when the prince might slip into his room again.

The fact that he hadn’t yet was…

_Urg!_

Two hundred years Len had gone without touching someone or being touched. Now, after only one night of rekindling those forgotten fires, he yearned to feel it all again.

But that was what Barry wanted, to further fuel his delusions that more than physical fulfillment could come of this. The fact that Barry wasn’t here now was a good thing. Maybe it meant he was giving up. Maybe he’d finally come to his senses.

Len pounded a fist on his desk in frustration.

A thud, like an echo, snapped his head toward the door. Not footsteps or a knock, just… a thud.

The thud came again.

“Mmmajesty?” a voice clearly _slurred_.

The knob turned—

 _Fuck_! Len leapt from the desk to intercept, realizing he hadn’t locked the door after all, but it was too late, the door was swinging open with Barry standing right there to see—

Nothing. He had some sort of cloth wrapped around his head to cover his eyes, a scarf Len recognized as Lisa’s.

Barry stumbled across the stones, nearly face-planting, and Len reached him just in time to catch him. At the same moment, he swung the door shut again, in case any foolish others were daring to wait on the other side to steal a peek.

It didn’t seem as though anyone had been there, but they had to have gotten Barry close to the door before setting him loose, because he was in no state to walk, even if he hadn’t been blindfolded. At least they'd removed his weapons, but he smelled like he’d taken a midnight swim in a vat of ale, and then rinsed his mouth with wine.

“Mmaster Mick was tryin’ to teach me to drink!” Barry raised a hand as if to emphasize his point as a sweeping declaration, only to nearly swing himself right over, forcing Len to lift one of Barry’s arms over his shoulders to steady him—and _oh_ , even that minor contact shot a thrill through Len’s body. “B-but I’m… I-I’m… I’m not very good at it!” he finished with a giggle.

“Pitiless vultures,” Len growled. “They told you to come here like this?”

“Nnno,” Barry said innocently, cheeks flush from drink, and lips rosy and sweetly smiling, as he turned to Len. “Mmmick and, um… Lisa! And the others… tried to stop me, but I… I said I gotta! I _promised_. Did you miss me?” His prettily parted lips puckered, and he launched forward with impressive accuracy.

“ _No_.” Len only just managed to heave him backward before they connected.

“You didn’t?” Barry asked miserably.

“You’re not putting your mouth on me,” Len explained.

“But I haven’t kissed you yet! I-I… I bedded you before I kissed you! My first kiss…” He giggled again, and the truth of that sank Len’s stomach.

He’d deflowered a man who’d never even kissed someone. He was definitely not going to kiss him now. “There’ll be none of that while you’d taste more like a barrel than a man. Now, come here.”

Len hefted Barry forward, dragging him across the antechamber. The prince was still light, but his near-dead weight did not help. Once Len had gone a few steps and had a better handle on Barry’s limp and flailing limbs, he lifted him into his arms properly to carry him like last night. 

Barry rested his head on Len’s shoulder and hummed happily, too much like a ragdoll to coil his arms around his neck this time. His smile remained intoxicated and dreamy when Len laid him out on the bed, a catlike stretch erupting as he settled in and clung to Len’s arms when they tried to leave him.

“Will you have your way with me again?” he murmured, shirt untucked and riding up his lean stomach from how he was sprawled.

“Not tonight.” Len pried the prince’s fingers from his forearms, even though everything about Barry, including the scarf over his eyes like some childish peace offering, was too unfair.

“Tomorrow night?” Barry reached after him.

 _Too unfair._ “We’ll see,” Len said. He didn’t _mean_ it. He just needed to appease the poor thing.

He’d planned to reprimand Barry for stealing his verses, but now was not the time for that either.

“While the blindfold is appreciated, stay awake until I’ve gotten some water and food in you.”

“Are you certain you can’t get _other things_ —”

“ _Don’t_ finish that sentence,” Len ordered, because with Barry bringing his hands to his stomach and dragging his shirt up higher, his self-control was wafer thin as it was.

Barry pouted but said no more, and Len used the reprieve to escape. The prince’s pores were practically sweating ale. A cool cloth, sweetly scented, would help.

And water. _Much_ water.

Len forced Barry to swallow down a glass and half of another before he allowed him to wave it away. He even stuffed a crust of bread down Barry’s throat before picking up the cloth he’d brought and beginning to wipe at the prince’s brow and down his neck. The scent of lilacs permeated, same as the bath, and Barry took a big breath as if to bask in it.

“A field of flowers… outside a deep wood,” he said, sighing blissfully. “That’s what being with you reminds me of.”

Those were the most sensible words Barry had said so far, but just poetry again, fantasy. Len didn’t know how to respond, so he chose not to. He simply wiped at the sweatier places on Barry’s skin, and then laid the cool cloth to rest on his forehead.

Barry’s hands found Len’s wrists and held them, but his breathing soon evened out, and the grip went slack. Slipping away would be easy then, yet Len didn’t rush to do so, enjoying the light touch of Barry’s soft fingertips. Once he was certain Barry was asleep, he rose to put everything away and refilled the water glass should Barry need it later—which he would.

Len had no intention of sleeping himself, and Barry was taking up the whole center of the bed anyway, so he pulled the covers down to fit Barry beneath them and tucked him in.

“Mmm… I still… miss her…” Barry grasped Len’s wrists again, barely audible as he roused. “She was… so good… kind, loving. Why would someone kill her?”

 _His mother_ , Len realized from the first words uttered. If ever he’d thought there was selfish intent in this prince, he knew better now. “I don’t know.”

“She might have changed things, as I wish to. Because of that?”

“Maybe.”

“Conspirators working against my kingdom… killed my mother, I… I must solve it and discover who they are. I must go home.”

The warmth in Len’s chest turned to bitter cold so quickly. “Then you should.”

Barry smiled, and with the blindfold, Len couldn’t be sure if he was truly awake or dreaming. “When I have the answers, I will, but not until the curse is broken and you believe you are my love. Then, my king, once you are free… I will free everyone.”

Heat returned with a vengeance but not to Len’s chest—it stung behind his eyes, hot and wet and dangerous. Barry was a fool—he was a fool; he was a _fool_ —and he went limp again, head lolling to the side, to show he’d once again drifted off, leaving Len with his dreams.

Len pulled away more swiftly than before, dizzy and feeling the need for a cool cloth of his own. He knew only one thing for certain.

He _hated_ Barry—for forcing him to hope.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, you'd think quarantine would mean more time on my hands, but work is crazy lately. Still trying to update as often as I can. 
> 
> And WOW, thank you all so much for the amazing response to the last chapter. As of now, this is planned for a total of 12 chapters, but you never know how things might progress. ^_^
> 
> Enjoy!

Barry’s bed was usually very comfortable, but he’d never remembered it being _this_ comfortable.

Then again, beds were always the comfiest when one least wanted to leave it, and Barry did not want to leave this one at all. He struggled to recall why he was so loath to move, and the dull throb in his head reminded him.

Ale. Far too much ale. And eventually wine when they’d tried to take the ale away from him. Barry would have been fine if he’d just listened when his friends tried to cut him off, but he’d been in such a good mood. The only thing missing had been the king.

The _king_ , who Barry had announced he was going to see, and no amount of persuading from the others had swayed him. They’d helped him up the long staircase to the king’s chambers, tied his head with a long strip of cloth, and—

Oh no…

Barry snapped open his eyes to see—darkness.

Reaching up blindly, he felt the silken cloth still covering his eyes, even though it had to be morning, and this was definitely not his bed.

Snuggled beneath the soft sheets, Barry tentatively felt down his body but breathed relief at discovering he was still fully clothed.

“Majesty?” he called to an eerie silence.

It must be past dawn, that’s why the king wasn’t here, but Barry kept his eyes closed for several long pauses after removing the blindfold before he dared peek around.

The bedcurtains had not been drawn, but he had been neatly tucked in, left in the center to slumber through the night alone. There were no windows in these rooms, so he could not tell if the sun was up, but the lacking presence of the king made him certain. He took what time he’d been granted to take in the parts of the king’s chambers he hadn’t been able to see the other night.

The bedroom was as lavish as the study, leading into the bathroom through a large, open archway. Everything was silver, grey, and blue, with only faint accents in gold and everything else colored so coolly. He remembered the feel of this bed now, but seeing it for the first time brought back flashes of sensation that hadn’t had visuals before—the king’s hands, his fingers inside Barry, and cock in Barry’s mouth…

Barry closed his eyes to stop the onslaught but that only brought the memories up stronger, and his usual morning hardness pulsed eager between his legs for attention. That was not an option. He wouldn’t dare pleasure himself in this bed without permission.

Although an audience would be interesting now that he knew the king had watched before, even if he couldn’t meet the king’s eyes or have him in daylight.

The king must be furious with him. Though Barry immediately doubted that thought given how gently he’d been treated. And then he saw the note.

Scrambling for the end of the bed, Barry snatched up the piece of parchment, precariously balanced at the edge of the mattress. The elegant penmanship matched what Barry had seen in the verses he’d stolen.

_Bathe and dress in what you wish. Your soiled clothes can be dropped down the shoot. There are potions, food, and water on the table beside the bath. We will talk once you are finished._

It wasn’t signed, not that it needed to be, but Barry’s stomach churned at that final sentence from more than just a belly full of spirits—which reminded how desperately he needed to pee.

Lurching up from the bed, Barry had to wonder if he was dreaming and had merely passed out in the dining hall last night. Here he was relieving himself in the king’s chambers, disrobing, and once again soaking in a hot bath already prepared for him with those same sweet-smelling oils. The dream didn’t fade, however. No matter what the king said after this, he was hardly treating Barry like a stable boy.

The wardrobes were numerous, and Barry couldn’t resist opening every single one. He’d already placed his old clothes down the… ‘shoot’, which had a basket beneath it, but was otherwise a small door set into the wall that opened to a long dark drop like into a deep well. The washing room must be directly below here. Everyone else left their clothes in baskets that were picked up by whoever was on duty that day.

Looking through the multitude of wardrobes for what to borrow, Barry wondered what the king had been wearing the night they spent together, though he knew it had been a mere shirt and trousers, not any of the gorgeous doublets he found with glittering accessories.

There were many in shades of blue which, like the décor of the rooms, didn’t surprise Barry—this had been the Sapphire Kingdom, after all—but none were stitched in white gold or silver, which made him smile. He’d started making that secret garment in his own size since he didn’t know the measurements of the king, but seeing examples now, he knew his choice wouldn’t be far off.

It was easy to tell among the doublets, jackets, and cloaks what had been tailored for the king before versus after the curse; the signature look of the kingdom today was simple patterns in brilliant color. Any of the more luxurious articles would have been out of place, especially for Barry to wear now, but there was a doublet in deep purple with maroon accents and matching stitching that drew his eye.

He chose it without hesitation, a white shirt, and dark brown trousers.

Not wanting to languish too long, despite the king’s hospitality, Barry fussed with the clothes and his damp hair, which was difficult without a mirror, before downing the potions left for him—first, a mild healing potion for his headache, and then his customary draught against the cold. He finished with much water, and finally, ate every crumb of food. When it was over, all that remained was to face the king.

The sound of yelling was not encouraging when Barry neared the frozen chamber beyond the door, but better than it being directed at him, he supposed. The voices became clearer the moment he pulled the door open, doing so slowly to not alert the figures outside.

“I didn’t pour the ale down his throat!” Mick argued.

“You didn’t do much to stop him from pouring it down his own!” the king roared back.

Barry cringed. They were yelling about him, however.

“It was his first night with the secret out— _second_ , technically. We always get the new offering drunk after that!”

“But most aren’t left on my doorstep, _blindfolded_. What if my door had been locked? What if I hadn’t let him in? He might have stumbled back to the staircase and broken his neck toppling down them.”

Barry flushed at the obvious concern in the king’s tone— _concern_ for Barry more than any anger that he’d had to take care of him.

Mick must have noticed too, because he snorted from where he stood only a few feet from the large, hulking Ice King. “Didn’t seem there was much chance of that. And look,” he turned to stare at Barry, making him jump and clutch the door handle at being caught, “seems we were right.”

The king’s gaze was just as paralyzing when it snapped to Barry, his maw closing and towering body tensing with tightly clenched fists.

Mick’s snort caused a burst of flames this time, as he pivoting to leave. “Not bad, Princeling. Next time, maybe you’ll even be able to keep up.” He headed off, ignoring the king’s shout after him.

It was difficult for Barry to keep the smile from his face as he left the king’s room, carefully closing the door behind him. In only a few short strides, he stood before a monster of legend that he’d made a complete fool of himself in front of last night, and yet he didn’t fear the consequences.

“I am truly sorry for my behavior, majesty,” he said anyway, offering a low bow. “Please don’t blame the others. I didn’t make it easy for them to tell me no.”

The king drooped to all fours in his beastly state, but not to pound the ground or shake the throne room as he had many times before. He merely wilted, like he wished he could make himself smaller in Barry’s presence. “That does seem to be your specialty,” he said.

Now that they were alone, the king took in Barry’s form with a dissecting stare, eyeing the clothing he’d chosen.

“I-is this all right?” Barry stuttered when that piercing gaze lingered.

“It’s fine. I’ve just… never seen anyone in those clothes.”

“Except yourself.” Barry startled after he said it, remembering that the king didn’t have mirrors in those rooms, and he almost never left them at night. He didn’t look at himself any more than he let others look at him. “I suppose you haven’t seen yourself in them, either, have you? Well,” Barry tried to keep the mood light, spinning slowly, “what do you think?”

Invited now to continue looking, the king’s gaze pierced even sharper, blue eyes sparkling in the depths of all that white. They were human eyes, the one part of him that remained so, and Barry tried to imagine, thinking of Lisa too, what his real face must look like.

He couldn’t quite picture it, but he didn’t mind that this was the only face he knew.

A low clearing of the king’s throat broke the quiet. “A tad large but wouldn’t require much tailoring.”

“Oh, you don’t need to let me keep—”

“You chose those pieces out of everything I have to offer. Call them a gift.”

“Gift? After the way I acted?”

That seemed to remind the king that he wasn’t acting as expected, and he lifted his head taller. “I _should_ banish you. I should end all this right now.”

Worry buzzed up Barry’s spine, and if it hadn’t been for his potion, he would have shivered. He asked plainly, “Then why don’t you?”

“Because… if I did, you couldn’t finish your endeavor to bring your mother’s killer to justice.”

The breath stole out of Barry’s lungs. He didn’t remember everything from last night, but he did remember telling the king that. “ _And_ my endeavor to break your curse,” he added faithfully.

For once, the king didn’t have a response, not even to refute it.

Or, if he did, he wasn’t willing to share.

He stood gestured down at the base of the throne, where Barry noticed their book, _The Pillars of Virtue_ , resting in wait. “I had Hartley fetch it from your room. Shall we read more on the ramparts, little prince?”

It was the best outcome Barry could have hoped for—and he also had the pleasure of getting further in the story. Sir Wayne and Sir Kent were fascinating heroes, each so different and yet equally capable to prove there was no one way to accomplish anything and compromise often solved a situation best.

Barry liked Sir Wayne more than Sir Kent, if he was being honest, and he didn’t fool himself over why. Wayne portrayed a grouchy disposition to cover a deeply caring heart.

For the first time, Barry stayed beside the king long past the lunch hour, since he’d eaten breakfast late, wanting to get as much time together as he could. But, like any day, once his first real shiver set in, the king dismissed him.

Grabbing a few leftovers from the kitchen to snack on until dinner, Barry headed to his room to drop off the book, unsure how last night had ended in win but not willing to question it. He received several stares from passersby as he trekked the halls—friendly ones but stares nonetheless—and wondered if it was because he’d drank so much in the hall last night or the outfit that obviously wasn’t his.

He’d been without his weapons belt when he woke up, vaguely remembering it being removed, so he half expected to find his dagger missing again, yet the belt and weapons remained, waiting for him neatly arranged on his bed.

Axel had kept his promise.

Barry traded the book for the belt but decided not to change out of the king’s garments. Maybe he’d keep them after all.

“Look who’s alive,” Shawna greeted when he entered the alchemist tower a bit later, the thief turned tailor and forager present with Cisco, Caitlin, and Mark. “We worried you’d either drunk yourself to death or been turned to a sculpture by now.”

“We did _not_ worry,” Cisco amended, “or we would have come looking. The king wasn’t upset?” He chatted as if facing Barry directly but was multitasking combining different colored powders into a vial, and then pouring a clear colored liquid into that, turning everything black.

“If he was, my complete humiliation must have garnered some pity. How goes things here?” Barry leaned on the table to look over their tasks.

Shawna was organizing the components rack and lining up items they must be meaning to experiment with later. Caitlin was mixing something like Cisco, though her final concoction turned green instead of black. Mark stood separate from the others to give them room, purposely shooting his lightning into mixes already lined up on another table in various shades of the rainbow.

“You mean how goes it working on _your_ project even when you skirt your duties and show up late?” the wizard sneered with a crackle of sparks leaping from his forearms.

If Barry didn’t know what the cursed court was, he would have taken Mark for an irritable god. “I am truly sorry, Master Mark. I didn’t intend that. Please know how grateful I am for your help.”

Mark grumbled like a distant roll of thunder.

“I seem to recall at least one of Barry’s refills last night coming from _you_ ,” Shawna said.

Another grumble responded, followed by a murmured, “He makes an entertaining drunk.”

The room tittered, even with a little laughter from Caitlin, and Barry promptly rose to get to work assisting them on today’s experiments.

The plan was to be as meticulous but as efficient as possible, hence the lineup of already prepared combinations, each left dormant and likewise charged with magic to gauge responses. It was Barry’s job to catalog the attempts and changes in reaction to better navigate what they should try next.

He was also tasked with helping make the daily potions that were produced in the tower, such as elemental protection and healing draughts. Necessities couldn’t crease just because he had a project.

While the day proved fruitful, the team in the tower made no larger breakthroughs toward discovering the final ingredients of what had killed Queen Nora and Caitlin’s husband.

“We’re going to run out of everything at this rate,” Mark said with a brighter jolt traveling down his body. “Better dig into the winter stores. You're lucky we have plenty, Emerald Prince, or I’d never allow this detour.” He turned into the deeper bowels of the tower to disappear.

It was then Barry realized that, besides the wizard’s coupling with Shawna and role at the castle, he knew the least about Master Mark than any other member of the court. “Mark was an elf and already a wizard, with a leaning toward weather magic, that much I know,” he said absently, slowly mixing a final batch of healing potions, “but is that all? Everyone else has a story, yet I don’t know anything about Mark before the king appointed him to the court.”

The room went so suddenly quiet, Barry stopped his stirring to look around.

Cisco and Caitlin had turned away, so Barry looked to Shawna, who faced him slowly, her usually glib demeanor more somber.

“You’ve wormed your way into a lot of _cold_ hearts, Barry, but Mark…” She peered the direction he had gone before continuing with her voice low. “I wondered the same thing when I first got here. What is the Weather Wizard’s problem? Frankly, I thought he was a prick and didn’t appreciate him ordering me around just because I had talents in foraging. So, I decided to play a prank. _After_ a month here, so I already knew the castle’s secrets.

“My plan was to sneak into his private chambers and steal his clothes, let him go without for a few nights, see if he even raised a fuss, and then return them with little pink hearts stitched into every doublet. Harmless fun, you know.” She smiled, only for it to quickly fade. “He wasn’t there when I arrived, as planned, but I didn’t expect what I did find—a portrait on the wall of a little girl, a half elf with long dark hair.”

Barry thought back to when he’d burst into Mark’s room, and while he hadn’t been paying much mind to the décor while on his run through the castle, catching court members at night, he did think he recalled that portrait. 

“He found me still standing there like an idiot,” Shawna went on, “and while he was as angry as you can imagine, he did eventually tell me who she was. It’s not my place to say more, but… I can tell you that I could relate to the story that followed.

“I told you three strikes was all it took for the king in my time to call for my hands. I didn’t tell you why.”

“Because… you were starving. That’s what the king said.”

“Those were the first two strikes.” Shawna grinned without meaning it. “Did you think I’d just get caught that many times? I was better than Axel in my day. He’s only a showman. But when you’re starving, your skills aren’t at your best. I stuck my neck out to feed myself. Myself… and the man I loved.”

Barry stared. He’d heard so little of love for the people here— _before_ they arrived.

“Two strikes were worth it to survive. I had the skills, so I did the thieving, and we made it through. We were doing well after that, making an honest living. I didn’t only forage and tailor after getting here, you know. But for Clay…” she said his name like tasting something bitter on her tongue, “it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, wanted us wealthy instead of only getting by, so he came up with a plan.

“I tried to talk him out of it, I should have talked him out of it or flat out said no, because I was the one who had to take the risk. I did, I got caught, and he ran, leaving me to my fate. He used me, and he left me. He never loved me the way I thought I loved him.

“I told Mark that story after he told me his. Understanding breeds friendship, and sometimes, though not always, friendship breeds more. He’s tough, hard and snippy at times, but there is a good man past the shields, like everyone here.” She smiled to the room.

Even Cisco had his shields, Barry knew, he’d just been lucky enough to get past them soon after they met.

Mark returned with a flurry and fresh crackle of light, a metallic taste returning to the back of Barry’s tongue. He straightened and returned to his stirring. Luckily, he’d been nearly done anyway and hadn’t ruined the batch.

“What are you all quiet for?” Mark barked.

Shawna simply smiled and blew him a kiss. “Doesn’t the mood always drop when I say I’m leaving?”

“You are?” Only because Barry had been here for so many days did he recognize the shift in Mark’s tone as disappointment. “Dinner then?”

“If I think you’ve earned it,” she said, and winked before leaving—though Barry wasn’t sure if it was for Mark or him.

“Looking good.” Mark eyed their progress as he set out the extra ingredients. It still amazed Barry how lightning in the shape of a man could hold or touch anything without scorching it, but he knew it took concentration, so Mark merely set everything on the table for filing later. “You two,” he said to Cisco and Caitlin, “we’ll need more containers before long. Grab a few boxes from the cellar. There’s hardly anything in the stores up here anymore.

“And _you_ ,” he shouted next at Barry, “finish that healing draught already, so you can help me with transmutation. We can get through this last set yet today, if this project means so much to you.”

The sharpness of his words didn’t faze Barry. He’d known before Shawna’s glimpse into Mark’s past that he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended—not any more than Mick.

Transmutation was one of Barry’s favorite parts of alchemy. Water and fire were opposites, air and earth, wood and metal, but lightning was perhaps the most complicated, because it’s opposite was like a void, pulling everything into it if left uncontrolled.

Barry understood why magic was outlawed back home and alchemy heavily regulated, because both could cause much damage if dealt with foolishly. Still, he knew that fear was not the answer, and he didn’t feel any as he followed Mark’s instructions to add just a simple few ingredients and apply a little heat with a candle to the bottom of each vial to cause a reaction.

All the vials changed in some form, some even began to swirl like a pit of endless darkness with a multitude of stars, but none caused the reaction they needed to indicate an untraceable poison.

Barry jumped when one vial sparked before he could pull away, causing him to hiss.

“Sometimes lightning is still lightning,” Mark said.

“Meaning… sometimes transmutation isn’t possible, because you can’t change something if the base isn’t at the right conditions?”

“As I said.”

“Have you ever tried transmuting yourselves?” Barry turned to Mark with sudden excitement. Even water could become fire with the right components added.

“After two hundred years?” the wizard snorted. “Of course we tried that. It doesn’t do anything. We aren’t made from alchemy.”

“Right…” Barry deflated. “Magic and alchemy can’t work in tandem.”

“Protection draughts is as good as it gets, at least until you _save us_ ,” he said in mocking.

After two hundred years, Barry supposed none of the conditions here were conducive to change.

Setting his tools aside, he began to organize the extra components, thinking again of that painting. Cisco and Caitlin weren’t yet back, and it seemed they already knew this story anyway.

“Master Mark,” he began carefully, keeping turned away as he worked, “my apologies again for the other night, storming into your room like that. I hadn’t realized, but I do think you and Shawna suit one another.”

“So glad you approve,” he answered snidely.

“I wondered though… who was the little girl in the painting on the wall? There aren’t any children in the castle.”

If not for Mark’s crackles of lightning, the room would have been dead silent, until Mark said, “Shawna’s been talking, has she?”

“Yes, but I really did see—”

“Keep your meddling to the king.”

Barry peered cautiously over his shoulder. “May I at least know who she was?”

“You are insufferable, you know that?” Mark growled, so many sparks dancing about him that an empty vial burst.

“Many others have said that.” Barry fought to not even flinch and turned to face Mark fully.

Mark moved around the table, a floating, angry storm. “Who do you think she was?” he demanded.

“Your daughter?”

“Who deserved better.”

“And her mother?”

“She deserved better too.” Mark turned away, speaking to the back of the tower. “We married too young and fought constantly, even more after… Joslyn was born. My wife saw the old king’s death as a good excuse to leave the Sapphire Kingdom. I saw it as an excuse to leave her. I took the role as wizard when Len asked me and said Joslyn could visit whenever she wanted.”

“Then you still wanted to see your daughter, even if—”

“I didn’t realize they’d gone until the curse struck and found our home long abandoned.” Mark whirled around with another crack of power. “Don’t excuse being a bad husband with being a good father. I wasn’t good at either.”

Barry knew Mark expected him to cow, to retreat, to give up, but he pressed on. “When Shawna said her story was similar to yours, I thought—”

“You thought I was the hero. That I was the one abandoned. If that were true, I wouldn’t be _this_.” He let his sparks ripple across his body. “You’re wondering why Shawna wastes her time after her own experience with someone like me?”

“No,” Barry said without having to consider his answer, because he recognized the opponent he’d already been facing in the king. “That part is obvious. There are things about you that might remind Shawna of her past, but the bad things you did, you regret. She knows her old lover never did. You’ve grown. You’ve changed. You deserve the chance she’s given you, because she knows you are better than you think, and I’d say she has some authority on that, since she experienced the opposite.”

Mark’s swirling storm dimmed. Axel and Hartley had been together since nearly the beginning of the curse. Shawna and Mark only the past 45 years. That was still a lifetime for many, and yet doubt was a recurring theme among the court and their partners.

“You don’t have to close yourself off to protect others,” Barry said, “especially not her.”

“Even if I’m beneath her?” Mark whispered.

There was weight to that question coming from a royal wizard about a condemned thief, but no one was ever what they seemed at first glance or should be judged on circumstance or their past.

“Isn’t she the one who gets to decide that?” Barry said.

The silence that followed was broken by Cisco and Caitlin’s return. Barry smiled, not saying more, and went to help his friends stack the boxes before he took his leave.

When Barry was finally giving his farewells, Cisco gasped at the brush of their hands.

“A vision? Anything important?”

Cisco looked confused though not overly concerned. “I’m not sure… I think you better take some extra cold resistance draught though, just in case.” He handed Barry a small case with three ready potions, and Barry didn’t protest.

“I’ve been spending a little extra time in the cold, I guess.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t want to slip on unsure footing. Thank you.” 

“We’ll keep on, Barry,” Caitlin said. “You’ll join us tomorrow?”

“Earlier this time.” He looked to Mark, who stared at him silently. “I promise.”

Barry planned to head for the main halls but decided to take a short cut through the hidden tunnels—and nearly did slip as soon as he stepped inside.

The entire passageway was coated in frost.

Barry grinned, fully aware of what that meant, but rather than spoil the game, respectfully headed the opposite direction.

XXXXX

Barry knew. Of course he knew. Yet Len followed like always, just at a slower pace.

He hated the allure of hope, and part of him hated Barry for giving it to him, but if he couldn’t bring himself to banish it or the prince, then he might as well enjoy what he could until it was gone.

And he missed Barry every moment he was without him. He should have shunned him when the prince rose after his drunken debauchery, but even after only one night together, he longed for his touch. He longed for his company every moment he was without it. Even if Barry knew he was watching, he couldn’t bear to let Barry out of his sight.

Eventually, the prince left the tunnels for the main halls. Len couldn’t always easily see him keeping parallel with walls between them, but he could hear his steps, and as he tried to stay in line with wherever Barry was headed, the collision that sounded when someone came speeding around a corner was unmistakable.

“Ouff!” Barry grunted, another voice groaning in kind, followed by the thud of two bodies hitting the floor.

Len rapidly removed the closest loose stone to check on Barry. He appeared to be okay, but he was in a heap of long limbs, tangled with whoever had struck him.

“Apologies, friend! I didn’t see… _you_ ,” the other man said when his eyes fell upon Barry, righting himself and grasping Barry’s hand to heft him up as well.

Their legs were still tangled, but they were at least sitting, facing each other now, hands clasped as both stared in recognition. The other man—an elf Len knew from decades’ past—smiled wide, his angular nose twitching with interest.

Frost burst over the stones in front of Len.

“Emerald Prince, our new recruit. We meet again.”

_Again?_

“After almost two weeks, you’d think you’d have met everyone by now, but I got the impression you were avoiding me.”

“N-no.” Barry snatched his hand away, fighting to untwist their legs but making it worse on several attempts before finally pulling free. “W-why would I do that? I don’t even know you!”

“Let’s remedy that then. I’m Ralph.” The elf grabbed Barry’s hand once more before he could scramble to his feet.

 _Ralph_. Len remembered him better now; always sticking that narrow nose where it didn’t belong and far too friendly. He’d been one of the few before Barry who had tried to make nice, only to give up when Len made it clear that he did not make friends with subjects.

Ralph clearly wanted more with Barry judging by the way he eyed him and let his hand linger inappropriately once Barry acquiesced to shake.

“Sorry I didn’t say hello when we first saw each other,” Barry said with a bashful drop of his eyes. “I was hurrying after Shawna.”

“I’m sure. I just felt bad for tripping you up. It’s not often I nearly cause someone to flip over a banister.”

Barry tried to snatch his hand back again, but Ralph used the hold to hoist them to their feet, nearly knocking their heads together with how they rocked into each other’s bodies from the momentum. “A-and where are you hurrying to today?”

“My duties at the stables. Lost track of time. But that can wait a few minutes.”

“Stables…?” Barry repeated—and then the obvious dawned on him. “You’re a stable boy?!” His thoughts must have strayed after Len’s frequent use of the term, though he knew full well none of Len’s conquests remained in the castle.

“I prefer to think of myself as a man, thanks. But then stable _man_ doesn’t roll off the tongue as well, does it?” Ralph raised Barry’s hand between them and ran his thumb over the knuckles. “Have you not seen the horses yet? They don’t get ridden much in winter and grow restless. I could take you down to see them sometime.” He raised his hand higher to place a light kiss to the back of it, making Barry shudder. “My, you are pretty.”

“So are you…” Barry whispered, and Len’s insides lurched.

Another burst of cold spread over the wall from Len’s splayed palms, and then again when Ralph started to lean forward…

“I-I’m with the king!” Barry wrenched away, leaving the other man’s hand outstretched holding nothing. 

“Not currently.” Ralph looked around in confusion.

Barry pursed his lips.

“You mean…?”

Len had never seen anyone move as swiftly as Ralph did to backpedal away from Barry.

_Good._

“You know… horses really shouldn’t be kept waiting.” He continued to withdraw until he hit the wall, instantly shivering, given the other side was covered in ice from Len angrily pressing his hands to it.

Jolting forward from the telling cold, Ralph turned and sprinted down the hall. “Another time, recruit!”

“Wait! You don’t have to—!” Barry tried calling after him, but Ralph was already gone. Holding a hand to his flush face, he laughed. “I’m with the king,” he said again and looked nothing short of joyous.

He’d turned someone down who he clearly found attractive, someone who didn’t come with any of Len’s complications, who obviously wanted Barry too, and he’d done it all for Len, for the chance at a love he didn’t even know was real.

That should have made Len angrier, but it glued him to his spot, made all the icier from his torrent of emotion that had exploded out of him. If Barry was risking everything on some fleeting hope, and happy to do so, then maybe…

Maybe Len owed him to do the same and enjoy Ralph’s hasty retreat.

XXXXX

Barry wasn’t sure when the king was or wasn’t watching him, so he tended to imagine he always was.

Except with Ralph. Oh, he hoped he hadn’t seen _that_.

Just in case, Barry focused his time in the music room on helping Axel, rather than working on his own piece, at least until he could ask Hartley to inform him whenever the king was watching while he was in there—which would also ensure Hartley stayed away for Axel’s sake.

Barry wanted both their bardic performances to be a surprise.

Since he wasn’t quite happy with his yet anyway, after nightfall and a quick dinner to make up for the previous evening, Barry went once more to the king’s chambers and tied that same scarf over his eyes before he knocked.

“I won’t look, majesty!” Barry called. “And I promise I haven’t had anything to drink tonight.”

He was ready for a fight, for silence or an argument, but after only a few short beats, the door opened, and a gentle hand took his to pull him inside.

The thrill of the king’s touch made him shiver for such different reasons than the cold of the room he’d just come from. The warmth of these chambers was all the sweeter too, the fullness of them clear in his mind’s eye, as the door closed behind him to let him know he was welcome.

“This is rather silly, you know,” Barry said, carefully following the path the king led him on.

“You coming here every night?” he teased.

“You not letting me see you but still letting me in.”

A comfortable hush fell until Barry crossed what he knew to be the threshold into the bedroom. “Can’t you be happy with what you’re given?” the king said, the hand in Barry’s keeping hold of him, while the other was suddenly at the curve of Barry’s cheek.

“Depends on what I’m going to be given,” Barry answered with a tremble.

“Well, little prince… it seems I owe you _this_.”

A puff of breath was the only warning Barry received before the shock of descending lips. He gasped, leaning instinctively into the body before him and nearly going limp at that first brush of another’s mouth. The king had touched him so intimately before, yet this made Barry’s knees far weaker.

He whined, opening his mouth wider upon the scarred softness of the king’s and sought the wetness of his lover’s tongue. The king tilted his head to comply, pulling him against him tightly, his tender touch on Barry’s neck becoming a firm hold as he plunged his tongue deeper to give Barry what he wanted.

Barry was still shy of fourteen days in the castle, yet he’d found everything he’d ever wanted his long twenty-two years on this earth and hoped he was giving the king something worthwhile after a far longer two hundred.

“Please…” Barry panted after his breath had been stolen. “Let me know your touch again, majesty. Let me know _more_ … if I can.”

“Are you sure?” the king asked, close enough to still puff air upon Barry’s lips.

“Yes.”

“Then I surrender, my little prince. At least in this.”

A thrill shot up Barry’s chest like a jolt from Mark’s lightning, following the king’s ginger steps to the bed.

Because he’d called him _his_.

XXXXX

Perhaps Barry truly believed his devotions, but Len knew, once the curse proved unbreakable, the prince would have to accept heading home empty-handed. And all the better, because knowing that, knowing true love wasn’t real or at least not real for him, wouldn’t stop Len from taking what he could.

Monsters could be gentle and giving too. Even demons garnered sympathy occasionally, after all.

And oh how Barry trembled and parted his moistened lips with a sigh as if all the answers to the universe could be found in Len’s touch. He simply knew no other, but Len would make it sweet for him, and sweet, in the end, for him too.

“You lent me your mouth, little prince,” Len said, laying Barry down and straddling his thin hips, “now, let me give you mine.”

Descending swiftly, Len claimed another kiss. He’d forgotten how nice the simple meeting of mouths could feel, tongues caressing with demanding twirls and flicks. Barry had little practice but more than enough passion, pawing up at Len with equally aggressive fingers twisting into his shirt.

Len rarely bothered with any of his doublets and hadn’t again today, but Barry wore the one he’d borrowed with its deep purple hue. Len loosened its ties, kissing Barry long and slow as his hand strayed low across the fabric to the start of the prince’s trousers. Those ties were more important.

Once undone, Len slid deft fingers into the opening to stroke through Barry’s fine auburn hair to the hot and hardening flesh beneath. Barry’s whine at the touch made Len want to devour him like the beast he was.

He pulled his lips from Barry’s to do just that, shifting the lock of his thighs to slide down Barry’s body and pull his trousers to his knees. He left Barry trapped like that, disheveled but mostly still dressed, panting deeply above him and clawing at Len’s shoulders as it must have dawned on him what Len was about to do.

Barry hadn’t been able to see Len when he took him into his mouth, but Len could see Barry as he bent to return the favor—good sized and blushing scarlet like his cheeks and still smelling of Len’s bath oils.

He didn’t taste like lavender though; he tasted of salt and heady skin, the floral scent mixing with musk as Len swallowed deep and pushed his nose into those russet curls.

“ _Len_ ,” Barry cried without fanfare, so instantly, Len wondered if he knew he did it.

Holding the prince by his hips, Len sucked and swallowed, salivating easily and opening his throat. Too long it had been since he’d done this, but that didn’t diminish his skill.

He sucked until he thought Barry could come in moments, and then slackened, pulling slowly off to lick delicately at his head. Only when Barry whimpered as if in pain did Len lick boldly up his underside and return to suck him in again.

Barry kept trying to pull his knees up, but Len held them down. The prince squirmed, grasping at Len’s collar and begging, “Please, I… I-I need…”

“Need… what…?”

“ _Something_.”

“You wish to end things so swiftly?”

“ _No_ , but…”

“Then be patient.” Len licked languidly around his cock, Barry’s desperate whimpers growing louder, until finally, he ragged Barry’s trousers down and off.

Now, he let Barry crook his knees, hooking them over his shoulders to dig his nose that much deeper into those curls, sucking almost vengefully and teasing a hand down the curve of Barry’s ass to the crease between his cheeks.

“ _Yes_ …” Barry’s hands slid from Len’s shoulders up into his hair, curling into the long strands.

The contact was so… new for Len, always having kept his hair short before the curse, that the sensation of someone running their fingers through it made him shudder and gasp away and groan loudly when Barry _tugged_. 

“ _Please_ , I’m so close…” Barry tugged again, unaware of the affect he was having, despite Len’s groan.

Tension seized Len like he’d just heard canon fire; the intimacy, the need he felt for it, superseded everything else, and the fear of that almost caused him to flee.

Instead, the choice he made was to conquer.

“Not yet,” he growled and roughly flipped Barry over.

The prince shook as he got up onto his knees, willingly positioning himself and thrusting his hips back at Len, presented lewdly and open while hanging heavy between his legs. Len hadn’t yet teased his fingers into that tight ring of muscle, and his hunger for Barry brought his lips back to him first with a wet lap of his tongue.

Barry’s moan was encouragingly filthy.

Len licked again, the tip of his tongue breaching the soft pucker. He spread Barry’s cheeks and licked as deeply as he could, as far as his tongue would go and that Barry would open. The prince was as tight as before, but Len’s tongue between his cheeks relaxed him faster, and soon, Len was plunging a finger inside with his licks.

He’d placed oils within easy reach, knowing what Barry would ask for, but the prince’s hole was already so wet from just itself and Len’s licking that nothing was needed. Len stretched him open with a full driving finger beside his tongue and was soon ready to add another.

The resistance Len had found before with two full fingers twisting inside the prince was gone. He’d gotten this far then too but only after careful scissoring and much more time. Managing this so quickly, Len risked the tease of another finger around the rim.

“Y-y-yes…” Barry’s hips rocked mindlessly back and forth, fucking himself on Len’s fingers.

Len had something better for him.

He still pressed the tip of that third finger in, only getting as far as the first knuckle and slowing his thrusts to start scissor with all three.

Barry cried out, not as pained as before and fighting past the strain. 

Len hadn’t removed any of his clothes yet, and Barry was only missing his bottoms. The neediness of it to rut as quickly as possible, clothes or other barriers be damned, brought Len back to his younger days when fucking someone in the stables was for convenience more than anything—it didn’t even matter _who_ —because _‘now’_ was better than taking the time to bring someone up to his rooms.

He had _Barry_ in his rooms, the Emerald Prince, who begged and mewled and deserved all the time Len could spare him.

“Shhh…” Len pulled his hand away to shuck down his trousers, shifting up close behind Barry and forming against his back with a warm slide between his cheeks—not to press in yet, just to rest there in wait.

Reaching around Barry to bring his hand between them, Len fumbled to connect their cocks as much as possible in this position, pumping his hand messily over each of them, adding Barry’s wetness from ready dribbles and Len’s own spit to his own leaking fluids.

“I-I… want…” Barry murmured inaudibly.

“I know what you want. Shhh…” Len hushed again. “Relax, little prince, and I’ll give it to you.”

The stress on Barry’s arms to hold him up gave way, and he fell forward, resting his head against the mattress, hips still rocking to slide their skin together, hot and wet but not with enough friction.

Len ran his hand over every bit of them colliding together until Barry was a ragged mess, limp and quaking, so ready for any promise of release that when Len rolled up to coat himself more slickly and returned to his stretched hole with easing pressure, Barry swallowed him up like the hungry maw from his first song.

XXXXX

_Yes._

Barry could handle it. He could take it. He—

He hissed. The base of the king was still so _much_. All that length and fullness inside him felt so good, but he knew it wasn’t everything from his own cringe and the king’s grunt of frustration.

“I-I’m… sorry.”

“No,” the king growled. “Your body is its own beast. Don’t force it.”

“But I want—”

“I know. Relax, but if it’s not meant to be again—”

“It _will_ be,” Barry insisted, pulling forward and back again to move the king inside him. That was its own magic, and Barry loved it more than any display of power or alchemist concoction. “Please, majesty. I will open for you.”

Another grunt resounded, a rumble, a _purr_ , desire dripping from the low utterance to make Barry melt that much further. He was supposed to be melting the king but melting together was just as good.

The slick slide of him was good too, the pull out and press back in of the king’s cock, making Barry smother his moans into the sheets in ecstasy. The king got so close to sheathing all the way inside him but kept hitting resistance, causing Barry to hiss or wince, and whenever that happened, he’d relent, pull back, and fuck Barry more shallowly.

Barry didn’t want shallow, so he focused on enjoying what he had—on the heat, the presure, the rhythm starting to build, that little by little stretched him open further, brought the king in deeper, and gods above and below them, Barry was determined to take him all.

And then a hard, slow thrust breached that stubborn resistance, and Barry expected a ratchet of pain, only for the ache to give way to more pressure, and then just… fullness, such wonderful fullness, that skimmed some marvelous spot inside Barry and made him scream.

The king pulled out, and Barry slapped a hand back on his forearm, demanding, “No,” gripping his wrist tight and squeezing, “ _more_.”

The next hard thrust brought the king in with a single stroke, Barry’s mouth dropping open in a silent cry. Everything burned, filling him to the brim, but it was a beautiful burn, and he wanted to chase that heat to its embers.

“ _Yes_ …”

Again, and again the king slammed into him, Barry’s hand falling forward to clutch at the sheets again for purchase. He turned his head, cheek to the mattress to let his silent cries out and glanced back.

His eyes remained covered, so there was nothing to see, but he imagined the king’s eyes on him, watching the rapture on his face growing in crescendo.

The king had to see it, had to be watching, like he always watched, because his thrusts grew more frantic, sliding in so effortlessly now, like he was made to fit between Barry’s cheeks and drive him to madness in his bedchamber.

That woodsy floral scent filled the room with sweat and musk and _them_. Barry couldn’t even push back to meet the king’s slams anymore, so immobilized by how good it felt, a fluttering, tickling sensation growing in the pit of his stomach with that same incredible _heat_. He knew what it meant to pleasure himself, but it had never felt like this, and each slam built the sensation higher.

And that spot—that wonderful spot inside him, touched only ever by having the king rock with abandon, made him moan and cry and plea to finally reach the end of this incredible driving force.

His own pleasure would have been enough, but it was a haggard moan from the king, scarred hands smoothing up Barry’s back beneath his shirt and half-untied doublet, like some deep need to connect and feel him, that tumbled Barry off the precipice.

He sank, almost falling into the spot of wetness he’d streaked across the bed, but held himself up by sheer will, back arched and thighs spread to anchor against the king’s final pumps—and oh, he wanted him to stay inside forever.

“ _Stay_ …” he croaked, no breath left for anything more, but it was enough that the king didn’t pull when he hit his peak.

Another grunt came, a sharp clutch at Barry’s skin, and then a glorious warmth filled him.

The king sank as Barry had, held up just enough to not smother Barry to the bed, both shaking and panting and sheened in sweat. Barry ached, more exhausted than the first time, likely not helped by his drunken slumber last night, but it had been worth every pained progress toward bliss.

“What a mess… you’ve made of my sheets,” the king huffed, lifting Barry’s shirts to press a tender kiss to the skin between his shoulder blades.

Barry shivered. “You’ll have to clean me up again.”

“Indeed.” The king rumbled a throaty laugh.

After a few more captured breaths, he pulled up and dragged Barry with him. Barry would have needed the helping hand being led to the bath even if he hadn’t been blindfolded. The ache was pleasant but definitely threw off his balance.

Once more, he found himself soaking in sweet-smelling water with the Ice King, human and comforting at his back. A warm cloth was dragged over his body, between his legs, his cheeks, almost enough to twitch him to life again, but the touch was fleeting, and soon they were both merely lying together with the king’s arms loosely holding Barry to him.

“Even after that… you still do not believe you are my love?” Barry asked, resting his head on the king’s shoulder. 

Silence answered for a good many moments before he said, “You will find someone more worthy someday.”

Barry thought of Ralph, who was very handsome and disarming. He thought of Eobard too, but that was a child’s dream. Neither of them made Barry hesitate to say, “There is no one of more worth to me than you, majesty.”

“And what if you only think that because you already believe I’m your love without actually feeling it?”

“I’m not so easily swayed, even by Cisco’s visions. I believe some things are fated, but that doesn’t take away our ability to choose. If I didn’t want you to be my love, you simply wouldn’t be.” Barry knew that wasn’t the same as saying he loved the king now, but he believed he was on that path.

“Then perhaps it is only because I am the first touch you’ve ever known.”

“That too discounts what I liked about you long before I knew your touch. You have all the qualities I am usually drawn to.”

“That I’m stubborn, vicious, and either monstrous or scarred?” He squeezed Barry’s ribs for emphasis.

Barry wriggled in his grasp but didn’t pull away. “I’d say… resilient, passionate, maybe a little tragic, yes, but also kind. I don’t know the man you were, but I know the man you are. And I don’t care about scars.” Barry turned, moving between the king’s legs to face him in the large bath.

Reaching out with both hands, he found firm shoulders first, and then moved up the king’s neck to the curves of his face. He could feel scars there too, even if he couldn’t see them, but it didn’t matter.

Crawling more securely into the king’s lap, Barry held his face in his palms to guide him to his lips.

Kisses were written about by bards as much as lovemaking or romance. Barry thought he could have kissed the king, mouth open or closed, it didn’t matter, well into the night and written sonnets in his head.

“Majesty…” he whispered.

“Go back to your room,” the king stopped him from asking the same old question to finally see him. “Sleep, little prince. You’ll grow tired of me soon enough.”

“I could—”

“It’s best if you don’t stay.”

The small win was in how much more gently the king pulled Barry from the bath, dried him, and helped him dress, before leading him to the door.

Barry stepped outside when it was opened for him but reached back to halt its closing and said, “Goodnight, majesty. But I promise you, someday soon, you will let me sleep in that bed again.”

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is coming along nicely, and you are all amazing for every comment left. 
> 
> Also... the Shadow Lands arc will be next. Yep, this is shaping up to be a connected trilogy, so stay tuned.

Barry knew he was right. Even without Cisco’s vision, he would have been certain that his destiny was upon him—saving his kingdom, saving _this_ kingdom, and finding a love of his own at last.

No casual touches with Cisco brought forth any new insight, only the occasional frown, and Cisco once again reminding Barry to take his cold resistance draught. Still, Barry remained confident as the days passed more quickly. The nights were what he looked forward to anyway, spent in the arms of the king.

They didn’t always connect as deeply when they were together, especially not if Barry was sore, but there were so many other wondrous pleasures the king could show him. The touch of his hand or mouth on Barry’s skin, on his _sex_ , was enough to drive Barry to rapture time and time again.

Soon, the last few days of his two weeks had come and gone, no fanfare needed since he’d already discovered the castle’s secrets, and he was nearly concluding a third week before he realized. The king had yet to allow Barry to spend the night in his bed again. He hoped his song might finally sway him.

Hartley agreed to let Barry know whenever the king was watching, which was often during the day, leaving Barry very little time to do anything in the music room except help Axel. He couldn’t be too upset though, because he knew it meant he held the king’s attention.

The king knew he knew, and Barry had considered calling him on it many times, but he liked the game too much of having the king’s eyes on him even when he couldn’t see him. It would make his victory of finally seeing the king’s true face that much more worthwhile.

When the king wasn’t watching, Barry worked tirelessly to finish his song. Axel tried to help, though he was better as an audience member than in the crafting of music. For that, Barry turned to Wynn, who helped him turn the king’s words into a beautiful melody. Barry never said the words had been written by the king, or who he was writing the music for, but Wynn seemed to know, often offering a sly smile as they worked.

Everyone knew before long about his nightly visits to the king. Once, the fletcher even sat beside Barry at lunch and asked him straight out in a hushed voice.

“Have you seen the king yet?”

Barry forgot sometimes that only the court knew the king’s true face. Even Oliver, who had been there since the beginning, hadn’t been present before the curse.

“Not yet.”

“And it doesn’t bother you, being with someone you’ve never seen?”

“If you had no sight to see Felicity, would you love her any less?”

Oliver had reared back, started for a moment, but then gave a small smile. “Not even a little, and her beauty stupefies me every day.”

Barry smiled too. “Someday, maybe I’ll also be stupefied. Until then, I can wait.”

He could be patient for the things that mattered, but the problem now was that his song was finished, and he still had no idea how to woo the king with it.

“You should ask Mick,” Axel said, close to completion with his own epic.

“I don’t know if I’ve read any of his books, since he doesn’t use his own name. Are they really that good?”

“Like a veritable god of romance giving advice.”

If Barry hadn’t seen Mick working on a book with Caitlin, he never would have believed the fiery weapons master could write verses of passionate love stories. Even so, he found him later that day like kismet, standing in the hall outside the library doors.

“Don’t you want to go in, Master Mick?” Barry asked.

The brightly burning behemoth turned toward him like a giant floating flame. “And risk a neglectful touch turning the whole place to cinders? Don’t be a fool.”

Barry went to him, leaving the customary few feet of space, and peered inside the library. The grandness of it still took his breath away even when he remained in the hall. “Basking in its presence then for inspiration?”

Mick grunted, and it came out like the snort of an angry bull. “It’s better when you newcomers never learn that.”

“Don’t be bashful, Master Mick. Being a poet or a bard is a great calling. I don’t have much skill for the writing part myself, only song and performance. But you can _tell the tales_. That’s real power. I was hoping the kind of power that… you might be willing to share?”

Bright flaming eyes danced like flickering candles. “Meaning?”

“Do you have any advice as a great writer of love about how someone might woo their love with a song?”

“You want the words?”

“I have the words from another clever poet, and the tune now as well. I know I want to sing it in private, when it’s just the two of us, but I’m not sure… how.”

Mick’s expression shifted, showing telling signs of a smirk within his flames. “For Len.”

“Yes. The intimacy of his touch, that he allows, but when I speak words of love, he rebuffs me.”

“And he will keep rebuffing you. What you need is to put the two together.”

Barry looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“If Len responds to the carnal over the romantic, then give him both. Look for a book called… _Heatwave_ ,” Mick nodded inside the library, “with a dark red spine. Second row on the right, four shelves in, about eye level. Somewhere around… page 120, you’ll find the example you’re looking for.”

“One of your books?” Barry asked.

“I never say that.”

“If it is one of yours, Caitlin’s the one who scribed it, right? Perhaps it’s time you used some of your own romantic advice, Master Mick.” Barry didn’t wait for him to refute that but turned to enter the library and followed the path he’d been set upon.

 _Heatwave_ was the only book with a red spine on the shelf he came to, and a couple pages just past 120 came a very romantic and _graphic_ depiction of a songstress teasing her warrior love. The scene made Barry blush like no other he’d ever read, because he knew he’d have to be the one leading to make the seduction work.

And he had to do it blindfolded.

“I remember that one.”

Barry’s head snapped up from the pages, and upon seeing Lisa floating before him at the end of the stacks, he clutched the book to his chest as though it were a pornographic painting.

“One of Mick’s steamier ones.” She smirked, ever the breathtaking statue come to life. “Or rather, Rebecca Silver, wasn’t it?” She tilted her head at the cover.

Barry closed the book to look for himself, the title and nom de plume carefully stitched into the dyed leather.

“Don’t be bashful,” Lisa said. “I’ve used those books for encouragement myself, but not every evening should be spent in one’s bedchambers. Mostly. Tonight, I’d like you to have dinner with me and Cisco.”

Barry glanced up at her again, his embarrassment fading in lieu of confusion. “I will always happily sit with you.”

“I mean more privately, in my rooms. I hardly get any time with you alone—when I don’t have to keep my distance.” She looked down at her shimmering form with a sad wilt of her smile. “Unless you were planning on using your… _encouragement_ tonight?” She nodded once more at the book.

“Oh, I’m not quite ready, I… I don’t think…”

“Then it’s a date. Please?” She had a subtle hypnotism about her, sweet yet dangerous and impossible to say no to, that reminded Barry of his mother.

“A date,” he said.

XXXXX

Barry promised to still see Len for their ‘nightly audience’ but informed him he would be late, taking dinner in Lisa’s chambers with her and Cisco.

Len had been debating following Barry less frequently. He couldn’t use the excuse of keeping an eye on a potential traitor anymore, and it was obvious Barry knew he was watching, making it all seem pitiable and needy. Len didn’t _need_ Barry. It had just been so long since he had something worthwhile to occupy his time.

He always returned to his chambers before nightfall. Sneaking out afterward was risky. Anyone might see him, even in the tunnels, though to his knowledge, only Barry and the court ever used them, and the court was usually indisposed as soon as dark fell.

Like any other night, Len should have stayed in his rooms, but his curiosity won out, and he found himself as drawn to knowing more about Barry as he’d been when he snuck into his room in human form to place _Pillars of Virtue_ on his bed.

They only had a few chapters left before the end…

Vulnerability hollowed out Len’s stomach as he slipped into his icy throne room and scurried for the door to the tunnels like an anxious rat. At least Hartley couldn’t suddenly appear as he often did during the day, but Len still listened with cloying paranoia before turning any of the corners on his trek to Lisa’s room.

He made it without incident, the only voices he heard being that of Lisa, Cisco, and Barry once he removed a stone to steal a peek.

They’d already eaten, only Barry left picking at a last crust of bread and drinking from a goblet of wine, while Lisa gave a beginning trill on her lute. They’d set up a small table to dine, Lisa having pulled her chair to the middle of the room to sit while she played, and Cisco turning his chair around to join her in song, as Barry watched.

_Beyond the dense, dark wood  
Lies lands forever night  
Shadows fall—and claw—and rend  
To see to travelers’ end_

_Oh lands possessed by demons’ thrall  
The Shadow Lands take all_

_The king once sold his soul  
To rule forever more  
Twisted form—he stalks—and lures  
To further grow his horde_

_Oh lands possessed by demons’ thrall  
The Shadow Lands take all_

_Beware beyond the wood  
For monsters made of men  
Darkness falls—and out—they come  
To make you one of them_

Lisa laughed as she ended on a warning trill, Cisco’s singing cutting off abruptly to laugh with her.

Most of the songs that spoke of horrors in neighboring kingdoms had been passed to Len’s people from Emerald, all dark tales of the Ice Kingdom, of the Mystic Valley, or of unknown countries and people beyond.

But the Shadow Lands… those songs had been known in Sapphire too, and even two hundred years before, Len hadn’t known if the tales were true. No one ever ventured beyond the wood down the hill from his castle. The _Dark_ Kingdom was simply whispered about.

Barry didn’t laugh with the others but looked suddenly sick and set down his wine. “Do you think it’s true? They never attack. Never threaten. Trade comes through sometimes in carriages pulled by black horses with no driver. Emerald’s people fear its magic, yet just like the offerings made here, the trade is taken, and we send our own supplies back.

“What if their king _does_ make monsters of anyone who reaches him?”

“You believe in ghost stories?” Lisa laughed again, setting her lute beside her.

“Forgive me, Princess, but I am talking to a woman made of gold during the day,” Barry deadpanned, and Cisco fought a snicker behind his hand.

“Fair enough.” She scoffed.

“But, like you said, Barry,” Cisco spoke up, “they’ve never posed themselves as a threat. Perhaps it’s all stories, like what Emerald thinks of this kingdom.”

“But the stories are _true_ ,” Barry reminded him. “They’re just nicer here than we thought.”

Lisa bowed in thanks for the appeasement.

“I only worry because… that’s where I sent the real offering from this year. General Eobard and the soldiers had fallen asleep. I’d stolen an extra key from Eobard’s quarters before leaving the city. They cover the cage once it’s out of view of Emerald, so the offering can’t appeal to their pity during the journey. It was easy to let the sacrifice out and take his place without anyone noticing.

“If I’d only known what I was going to find here, I would have simply joined him instead of sending him into the dark.”

The young prince was a good ruler already, worrying over a single subject he could do nothing to protect and a past he couldn’t change, even though weeks had gone by and his own situation had been made brighter.

“But you _didn’t_ know,” Lisa pointed out. “It only does you credit that you blame yourself anyway.”

Barry smiled, however somberly, and then reclaimed his drink after a moment of silence. “Cisco and I used to help put together the alchemist packages for trade with the Shadow Lands. Remember? Master Wells would sneak experiments in there just to see if there’d be any response. It’s a wonder he was never given up for sacrifice.” A note of bitterness entered his tone. “It still angers me he wouldn’t speak up for you. I refused to see him or stop by the shop after that…”

Cisco mirrored his somberness but without the bitter edge. “He was scared. Everyone’s always scared back home. My family too.”

Lisa returned her chair to the table to be nearer to Cisco and hooked her hands around his arm.

“You forgive him?” Barry asked after another quiet beat. “You forgive _them_?”

“I can’t hate any of them,” Cisco said. “If somehow our positions had been reversed, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to do what you did, Barry—standing up to your father, seeing me to the gates, showing up here to rescue me.”

“You would have,” Barry dismissed, as if all he had done wasn’t a monumental collection of feats.

“Maybe, but I don’t know how to use those fancy new swords of yours,” Cisco said with a warm chuckle. “I’m just a scientist.”

“ _Just_. I doubt anyone here who uses your potions or is blessed by your visions would say you’re _just_ anything.”

A darker hue touched Cisco’s cheeks, and as he leaned against Lisa, she hugged him close. “Even so, I forgive Master Wells and my family. I forgive your father and General Eobard too. That doesn’t mean I ever want to see any of them again.” He chuckled like before, turning to look fondly on Lisa. “This is my home now.”

She kissed him, a tender press since there was company so near, and Barry looked on with a reverent longing that Len had seen many times before, even when Barry’s eyes were covered by a cloth.

“When the curse is lifted,” Barry said, “your city will grow and it will become home to many more again, blossoming into the kingdom it was always meant to be.”

“And where will the Emerald _King_ fit into that,” Lisa volleyed, “so many leagues from here?”

Barry startled into silence before uttering, “I guess… I hadn’t thought about that…”

No, he hadn’t. Len had been trying to tell him, but Barry wouldn’t—

“I’ll just have to call both kingdoms home. Or maybe we could grow so vast together, we’d combine into one great empire.” Barry beamed as he said it, Cisco laughing at the jubilant notion, and Lisa looked serenely wistful.

Barry was just a dreamer.

Always a dreamer…

“What about you two?” Barry asked without ever losing himself to dissenting thoughts over his foolish fantasy. “Would you marry soon?”

Cisco promptly choked on his wine.

“Sorry!” Barry scooted closer when his friend’s coughing prompted Lisa to smack his back. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

“No…” Lisa spoke up, “it’s just… Cisco already ask me.”

_He did?_

“You did? I, uhh…” Barry’s cheeks flushed with color. “Do, um… people not marry here? I thought Oliver and Felicity—”

“They do,” Cisco said, clearing his throat before continuing. “But Lisa… wants to be wed in sunlight. I understand that, and I can wait or live an eternity just as we are.”

There were obvious reasons why Len had never argued against his sister’s choice of companion after two hundred years watching the other court members find love. Cisco might be slight and far from a nobleman or warrior—everything about him would have angered their father, which honestly made Len bless the couple more—but he was a powerhouse where it mattered and in all the things that made Lisa happy.

She held him close and rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s selfish.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cisco said.

“Besides,” Barry added, scooting excitedly to the end of his chair, “it’s _doable_. When I break the curse, Len can marry you both in the garden, no ice statues anywhere in sight. You’ll see.”

“Would that suit my fair princess?” Cisco asked against her soft brown hair.

“Only if Barry puts some of that gold stitching into my wedding gown,” she teased.

Barry erupted with a joyous laugh. “And Len and I can wear our matching doublets in attendance!” he announced.

Len had always known that the silly little prince meant those doublets with yellow and white gold stitching respectively for them.

“You called him ‘Len’,” Lisa said. 

“I did. Now, if only I could muster the confidence to do so beyond being… um… impassioned.” His cheeks blushed brighter, and Cisco and Lisa snickered. 

“When are you going to give Lenny his doublet?” Lisa asked.

“When I can see him in it,” Barry said, without any doubt that, one day, he would. “You two are as much an inspiration as any bardic tale or book. But I better not keep the king waiting.” He tipped his goblet back to finish his wine. 

“You _could_ , you know.” Lisa snickered again. 

“Yes, but even after a few hours, I… miss him. Either form of him. Is that pathetic?”

_Yes._

“No,” Lisa countered Len’s thoughts, smiling in her bliss. “It’s familiar.”

Barry rose to take his leave, but since the happy couple had gotten quite comfortable at the table, he offered to put Lisa’s lute away for her. When he returned to them, he asked, “I never noticed before, but your lute has a bit of patchwork to it. Just for decoration?”

“Oh, um… it had to be mended once. A year ago, actually.” Lisa grinned at Cisco. “After a certain someone snuck into my room his first night. I hit him with it.”

“What?!”

“After that thief all those years ago, she was scared!” Cisco defended. “Luckily, I wasn’t knocked out and hastily explained that I’d only gone to her because she seemed the most likely to listen about my visions and that they’d already shown me the castle’s secrets. I was scared too, but while she kept me at a distance at first, she listened and agreed to keep my secret from the others until my two weeks passed.”

“It was the smart thing to do,” Lisa said, “but I also missed having someone around at night. I asked Cisco to come back every evening so I could keep an eye on him. That was my original intention, but he’d tell me stories about Emerald, about his experiments, about his favorite tales and songs, his dreams and fears, his visions, even the ones he had about me. I was smitten long before I realized…” She kissed him lightly again, linger this time far longer.

 _Familiar_ , she’d said, and that story of a slow decline was familiar to Len too.

“The night Cisco’s two weeks were up when he was officially initiated as a subject of the Frozen Kingdom,” Lisa continued, “I stole him away for the rest of the evening and never regretted it.”

They stared adoringly into each other’s eyes, Barry overcome with that longing look again, as he made his way to the tunnel exit. “Goodnight, friends. I am very happy for you and agree whole-heartedly—here’s to no regrets.”

Len was so weighted down with the guilt in his chest from Barry’s unwavering faith in him that he almost forgot he was currently standing in the tunnels Barry was about to enter—and there was no way Barry wouldn’t see him!

Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Len hastened away, never before so relieved that there was no ice trail back the way he had come from.

XXXXX

That night, Barry thought the king sounded out of breath when he opened the door to lead him into his chambers.

Eager to see him, Barry hoped.

They kissed and touched and lay together, writhing as one with tangled limbs and inelegant, hurried enthusiasm. Barry loved nights like that as much as any of the ways they were together.

Afterward, instead of bathing, since cleanup was easier when the king didn’t take him fully, they continued to lie in bed, while the king read the next chapter of _Pillars of Virtue_. Usually, Barry did the reading, but oh, the king’s voice was lovely and lyrical.

Barry thought his planned singing seduction might no longer be needed with how attentive and sweet the king was being, but when the chapter concluded, he still pushed Barry out the door.

The next night, Barry had no more excuses, because Axel was ready with his tale, and his friend had made him swear that he’d perform his too—even if the only one who’d know was the king.

Anticipation made the day inch by, Barry’s thoughts distracted when he was with the king that morning, and far worse once they parted. Dinnertime came too slowly, though Barry was inspired as he sat, anxiously ringing his hands and waiting for Axel to arrive with Hartley, when he looked over at Mick and Caitlin sitting together hip to hip.

The sun had already set, and they’d entered the banquet hall together. Each iteration of the experiments in the alchemist tower brought Barry and those helping him nearer to the potion that had killed Ronnie and Barry’s mother, and with that success, it seemed the _ice maiden_ was melting just as Barry hoped to melt the king.

Ten years Caitlin had been tethered to a ghost, called ‘widow’ like a lifelong title, but with this mystery about to be solved, perhaps she was finally letting go and opening her heart to her next adventure.

Barry relaxed as he watched the pair with a growing smile.

Just as Axel arrived in a flurry, literally dragging Hartley behind him.

“I’m not hungry—” Hartley tried to protest, but Axel tugged him along anyway.

“Yet I, my love, am hungry for the room!” He let go of Hartley only after they were in the center of the hall, jumping straight up onto one of the empty benches to get onto the table and command everyone’s attention. “I have the most epic of tales to tell today. Unparalleled and dramatic and spanning across ages, this story is one of heartache, deceit, and love conquering all.

“Who cares to hear it?”

The usual chorus of cheers and encouragement rose up at the thought of Axel telling one of his tales, while Hartley tried to hide his amusement by scowling ineffectually and crossing his arms.

With leave to begin, Axel started a slow stomp on the table to get the crowd pounding out a beat, and the trill of a harpsichord filled the hall. Everyone turned, Hartley looking especially stunned, to see Wynn sitting at the instrument in the far corner, having been brought down from the music room but gone unnoticed until now.

Lisa stood from where she and Cisco sat across from Barry, revealing her lute tucked down beneath the bench. As she joined in Wynn’s song, Barry and Cisco rose as well for their parts that would come later, and Axel began his verse to the continued beat of the crowd.

“The lovers yet to know their path begin our tale quite broken: a scoundrel found to hide his ears,” he tapped his own pointed tips, “and a spy with wants unspoken!”

Hartley turned his head to hide a laugh.

“The spy was once of noble blood and meant to give an heir, but hence he was sent from his home for craving _broader_ fare.” Axel winked, spinning about with his usual flourish. “So too the scoundrel once was jeered at if proved his tricks untrue. Then sent away as magic-born, a half-elf given due.

“And oh, what luck!”

Barry and Cisco picked up the tale by singing in harmony, _“No greater love—than the first to fall!”_

Laughing outright then, Hartley hugged his arms around himself as if to make himself smaller, embarrassed but also clearly smitten given the growing color in his cheeks.

“The spy was happy to be such to twist his foes about, now free but caged by skeptic’s scorn that love would e’er be found. So, scoundrel came to grace his eye and maddened him for years, but madness takes so many forms and ended here in tears.”

Axel spun once more and hopped down from the table to the bench as the music swelled, speaking right to Hartley. 

“Without a captive crowd to con, the scoundrel had no call, and spy took pity with his touch to soothe him by his thrall.”

“And oh… what luck,” he softened, and Barry and Cisco sang softer too. 

_“No greater love—than the first to fall.”_

Axel hopped down from the bench, landing delicately on the stones.

“One night of passion only, the spy swore to the scoundrel, but now he’d known the taste of love and heeded not his counsel. The scoundrel sought the spy for days and weeks to come, declaring love at every turn at night _and_ in the sun.

“He said it til his love believed that what they had was true,” Axel slowed his slow progression toward Hartley, and the music stilled completely, as he touched Hartley’s arms to loosen their hold about his waist and drew his hands into his own, “and to this day he loves him still—‘I love you, dear, I do.’

“And oh… what… luck.” He kissed Hartley right there to a pause of silence—and then a roar of cheers.

Hartley pulled away with a sputter at the attention. He was used to being mostly invisible all day and slipping around unseen, now made the center of attention. Yet he laughed and didn’t draw back from Axel’s touch, holding his hand, and then reaching to cradle his face.

 _“No greater love,”_ Axel sang softly, not usually able to hold a tune, but this much he could manage, _“than the first to fall,”_ and kissed Hartley again.

Not many loves got to survive beyond a single lifetime, but though doubts may ebb and flow, Barry truly believed even before the display he was witnessing, that true love was constant and unconditional.

“Now,” Axel said, louder to those watching and still not releasing Hartley’s hand, “if you’ll excuse us, as my love said, he’s not hungry yet, so I think we’ll spend our time… elsewhere.”

Hartley was still blushing, easy enough on his pale complexion but not a usual sight, and several snickers and hollers arose as Axel dragged him away just as he’d dragged him in. They seemed blissfully young and happy and giggly, like they truly were the age they looked instead of centuries old.

Barry turned to Cisco and Lisa, but they were sharing a kiss now too. Wynn came over from the harpsichord to pat Barry’s shoulder, knowing like the others that it was his turn to weave a tale, though his stage would be smaller.

“Have a good evening.” Barry patted Wynn’s arm in return, glancing once more at Cisco and Lisa, at Shawna and Mark not much farther down the table, and even at Caitlin and Mick less obvious but still entranced, before he took his leave.

_No greater love…_

He just hoped the last to fall would be as magical.

XXXXX

Barry had said he’d be late again but that he would darken Len’s door before the night stretched on. Each day that passed, Len knew their time grew shorter, because Barry and the others were close to solving the recipe for that awful potion that had killed the Emerald Queen and Caitlin’s husband.

Perhaps, Barry would be able to use it to find justice but changing the hearts of his people would require a miracle—like the breaking of a curse—and as warm as Barry made Len feel, he didn’t believe that was possible.

The knock at his door and the sight of Barry on the other side, blindfolded as always, for the briefest of moments, still made Len wonder…

“Majesty,” Barry said when Len led him inside, “I would like to request something different tonight.”

“Oh?”

The prince was often a bundle of contradictions, equally self-assured or bashful depending on the circumstance. He was nervous tonight. Len could feel it in the tremble of his fingers clasped in his own and the way he bit his lower lip. Still, he didn’t let that defeat him. “I would like to lead, if you’d set the stage.”

“Then lead, little prince. What do you want of me?”

“Bring us to the bed… undress… position me at the foot of the bed facing it, and then lie back.”

“Does the no longer virgin prince wish to _take_ his king?” Len smirked, already complying as he pulled Barry into the bedchamber.

“I-I… hadn’t thought _that_ far,” Barry flushed brilliantly scarlet, “but I wish to prove my affections for you.”

Len didn’t need anything proven, but love wasn’t some magic spell—or an end to one. “Then lead,” he said again, skeptical though he may be, “and I’ll follow as far as I can.”

It was Len who had to lead in the beginning, bringing them to the bed and leaving Barry at the foot of it. He slipped his trousers and shirt off and climbed onto the bed as asked, lying upon his pillow and watching his prince.

“The stage is set,” he said, wondering what Barry had planned. 

Barry smiled, nervous still, but seemed bolstered when he started to hum and nimble fingers pulled on the ties of his doublet.

 _“The noble prince went on his quest  
To become a greater king,” _Barry sang— _sang_ , to its own unique melody—the verses he had taken from Len’s desk.

Len tensed, though he’d known a reckoning was due.

_“Than those before who’d shamed their lands  
And bards denied to sing.”_

Drawing the doublet open, Barry let it drop from his shoulders, slowing feathering his fingers down the center of his chest to the edge of his trousers, where he tugged his shirt free.

_“He traveled far to learn abroad  
How other kings reigned just,”_

Barry gripped the bottom of his shirt and drew it over his head without losing a beat.

_“But for all he found who’d earned their crowns,  
Men made beasts ruled thus.”_

Sliding a careful distance back, he began untying his trousers, ensuring Len saw every coil of those ties around his fingers.

Len spread his legs as he looked on and reached between them, surprised, though pleasantly so, when Barry sang a chorus not previously written.

_“Ever was, ever more,  
Love can conquer any lore.”_

Down the trousers dropped, Barry already twitching to hardness in anticipation, while Len pulsed to life in echo, barely needing the aid of his leisure strokes. Barry stroked himself too, once, twice, and reached forward to begin climbing up the bed.

_“He pitied one such beast  
To turn him from his ways  
In hopes that tenderness might win  
And pierce the heart that strayed.”_

Barry crawled to Len until he arrived at the spread of his legs, first rising onto his knees to feel up his own chest, and then down his hips to rake blunt nails across his thighs and stroke himself again.

_“Hearts made of ice aren’t made for melting,  
But the prince did burn so bright”_

So bright, and next, he fell forward, found Len’s thighs, and raked his nails there too.

_“That he reached the wayward beastly king  
And found him in the night.”_

Find him he had, feeling up Len’s body as he’d felt down his own. It was so rare that Barry touched _Len_ more than fleetingly. Len was the one who guided, who initiated, but now…

Barry dragged his nails back down Len’s chest, found his hand on himself and pushed it aside to hunker low and replace that hand with lips and tongue. He could only feel his way through what he was doing, but he barely trembled now, no hesitation, as he licked—

Len gasped!

—and then continued to sing.

_“Lips and hands and hearts did touch  
Knowing pleasures lost before,”_

He licked again, swirling his tongue up Len’s shaft and over his head, but then sat up to crawl forward, making Len shake and clutch at him, drawing the long, lean prince atop him, and spreading his legs further to let Barry settle between them.

_“And the prince did reach the king at last  
As the beast became no more.”_

He kissed Len, holding his face in possessive palms and rocking his hips to slide their cocks together.

 _“Ever was, ever more,”_ he sang softly,  
_“Love can conquer any lore.”_

“You stole those words,” Len whispered.

“The chorus is mine,” Barry said, looking quite comfortable atop Len, circling his thumbs along Len’s cheekbones.

“A dreamer’s refrain,” Len replied, though without the bite he might have used before. “And I think I’ve read a similarly tantalizing seduction.”

There came the blush that had faded. “You may have. Do you believe your own words, majesty? It was beautiful written.”

“Barry…”

“I love you,” Barry said, hastily but earnestly spoken—what he’d implied so many times but hadn’t yet said aloud—and reached for the blindfold to slide it from his eyes.

“ _No_.” Len snatched his wrist to stop him, seeing the instant disappointment and sorrow that marred Barry’s face. “But… you may take your king, my prince,” he conceded, drawing Barry’s hand away from the scarf and down between their legs, lower than their connected hardness to where Len was willingly spread and inviting him in. “You may yet change his mind.”

Barry trembled once more as his fingers grazed the puckered skin.

“The oil is at your right,” Len said. “Make all the mess of me and my bed as you wish.”

However Barry had hoped his performance would end, Len knew it hadn’t quite been this, but he took what he was offered, found the oil, and coated his fingers.

There were many a stable boy, nobleman, or passing nobody who’d had Len bent or folded and begging for it. Demanding it, more like. With Barry, Len gave what he’d so often been given—the quick breaths and pleasured moans that meant, _Yes, this is what I want and what I need_ —and he let Barry lead.

Barry had poured more oil than needed, but that merely made the slide easier and the stretch respond faster, as his tentative but strong fingers found Len’s entrance, circled his rim, and pressed inside. Barry knew from experience now the right pace, the right depth, and every few moments, when he asked, “Is it okay? Is it enough?” only pushed Len closer to catching the pleasure he chased at having Barry inside him.

Not ready for Barry to see him, he’d thought this would be impossible, but Barry didn’t need to see to feel him and bring him to the edge. He had two fingers scissoring inside Len, when he dipped down to lick up Len’s length again.

“Is it—?”

“ _Yes!_ Everything is… I won’t break, Barry, _please_.”

Barry’s confidence resurged with a wicked chuckle. “I wish I could see you… spread open and sprawled for my viewing. The feel of you…” He kissed Len’s tip as he continued to stretch him with harder and faster thrusts, and then sucked him in as far down his throat as he could.

Len’s cry caught on his tongue. 

“Mmm… the broadness of your shoulders…” Barry licked his cock again, “the lean firmness of your muscles… it paints an appealing picture, majesty, and one day… you will let me see it.”

Sliding his fingers free, Barry returned with the push of his head, slick from the extra oil on his fingers but with a wonderful added stretch that Len hadn’t felt in ages, the stretch of his own fingers never able to compare or any salacious tool he used as replacement.

“The way feels smooth…” Barry panted, one hand guiding his cock, knuckles grazing Len’s cheeks, and the other gripping the back of Len’s thigh as he slowly pushed in. “But…”

“ _Barry_.”

“I-I… I can’t tell if you cringe, majesty. I don’t want—”

“ _Take me_ ,” Len echoed what Barry had first said to him, because Len was no virgin, and he lifted just enough to grip the wrist of the hand on Barry’s cock to squeeze and let him know he meant it. “You won’t hurt me.”

The bulb of Barry’s head pushed deeper inside Len in answer, and the rest of his shaft widened where it sunk in further, until Len felt undeniably full.

Then Barry pulled back to thrust inside again.

Len moaned—and for one wild unchained moment, he wanted to tear the scarf from Barry’s eyes and let him see him.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t. Soon, he truly couldn’t, as Barry’s thrusts sped up, the hand on his cock no longer needed and falling to Len’s thigh like the other, tilting back his hips to sheathe in deep and make Len incapable of anything but mewling pleas for more.

Len wished he could see Barry’s eyes in all their beautiful emerald green, but the flush to his cheeks and sweet part to his lips as he took Len as expertly as he’d ever been taken was still breathtaking.

Reaching between his own legs again, Len started pumping himself madly to the rhythm of Barry’s rocking. Barry must have felt/heard/sensed it, because his brow scrunched, and he asked, “Majesty, I can—” but the hesitation to reach for Len meant his thrusting slowed.

“ _No_ ,” Len huffed. “Keep on… It’s everything I want, Barry, don’t stop.”

Barry listened, keeping his attention singularly focused, as Len did the same—only Len had the pleasure of a view. And oh, witnessing his prince take him with such powerful force, the tingling burn growing hotter inside him and building his release quickly, made him cry out when he finally came, spilling over his fingers.

Hearing him finish spurred Barry to go harder, faster, intensely claiming and thriving in it and eventually ending with him spilling hotly inside Len too, a surprised, embarrassed look overtaking his features that Len read all too well. Barry hadn’t warned him or asked, but Len didn’t care. That warmth was not something he would ever want to go without.

“Well done… little prince,” Len soothed. “You are a man of many talents.”

Barry snorted, relieved as Len wanted, and then pulling away to pitch to the side and lay exhaustedly beside him. “I would offer to wipe away our mess, Majesty…” he said, “but I’m afraid I can’t see.”

 _Brat_ , Len thought with a snort of his own, both of them tumbling into laughter. Len wanted to let Barry see him but also didn’t, and in the end, he was too afraid to say yes. “Let me catch my breath… and I can still clean us.”

Barry nodded but couldn’t dismiss his frown.

The guilt Len felt most days was so much stronger when he made Barry look like that. Whatever love truly was, it’s pull was as strong as magic and hurt just as much too.

Len cleaned them in silence but didn’t pull Barry into a bath. He collected him in his arms and held him on the bed. He couldn’t give Barry what he wanted, but he didn’t want to let him go either.

“May I ask something, majesty?” Barry said.

“Yes?”

“You enjoy reading romance, but you didn’t know more than carnal pleasures in your youth, right?”

“Do I have any lost loves, you mean? No. I didn’t allow myself that. It was only later, after the curse, that I began to realize what I’d gone without and would never have.”

“Len…” Barry said, catching a gasp in Len’s throat at it being uttered so plainly for once, “I do love you.”

Closing his eyes, Len squeezed Barry tighter against him. “Sometimes, Barry… I believe you.”

XXXXX

Barry awoke slowly, confused at first by the large bed beneath him and the tall curtains drawn around it in pale, sheer blue. It was like waking while still caught in a pleasant dream.

Warm arms were wrapped around him, as he lay on his side, a firm and even warmer chest against his back. He smiled as he realized he’d gotten his wish and slept in the king’s bed again, but this was so much better than sleeping alone, with the presence of the king not yet having turned to ice with the morning.

_Morning…_

The surge of joy Barry had begun to feel receded, as the warmth of the king against him started to feel increasingly _cold_.

“Majesty!” Barry cried, realizing what was about to happen and struggling to get away and rouse the king before—

“Hm?”

—the sun finished rising outside the castle walls, with Barry left scrambling to escape, blind and desperate and feeling the worst pain of his life crack like whips across his back, so cold it _burned_.

And Barry screamed.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - this one makes me weepy... but I promise a happy end eventually!

_No_! Len thought as he snapped awake— _awake_ , because he’d allowed himself to sleep beside Barry in an unthinking act of carelessness, and now it was morning!

He cringed, an extra spike of pain shooting through his body at his futile attempt to stave off the change, being twisted and hunched and covered in stinging cold as the ice took him. He was still on the bed, for the first time in all the decades since the curse was cast, causing him to freeze a part of his one human sanctuary, as he destroyed the sheets, and then the bedpost that he reached for to get up and away as fast as he could.

It was too late though, he knew, because he’d been wrapped around Barry when the curse took hold, and he’d heard Barry _scream_.

Transformed and frosting everything around him in his distress, Len stood, unable to move any further at first save the tremors wracking his limbs, knowing what had to be on the other side of the bed where Barry had fallen.

The young prince might be in pieces after his own futile scrambling, if he’d turned to ice before he landed. Even if he was whole, Len had most certainly killed him, creating a new statue, all for one selfish act of wanting something he didn’t deserve…

Clenching his icy claws, he forced himself to stomp around the bed. He had to see. He had to accept what he’d allowed to happen and look at Barry—

Who was whole and not made of ice!

Len surged forward but stopped before he got too close. Barry was still flesh and blood, but his naked back was an angry swath of frozen skin like the worst frost bite. He was unconscious, likely from the pain, but still breathing.

“Hartley!”

XXXXX

Everything around Barry was like a dream. He remembered pain—so much pain. He could still feel it as an awful ache across his back beneath a warm numbness, as he tried to rouse and focus.

His blindfold was gone, but he was still naked, covered only by a sheet, lying face down on a bed far smaller than the king’s. There were voices around him, but not the king himself.

Hartley, who’d found him.

Oliver, whose strong arms had carried him to wherever they were now.

And Caitlin, barking orders, with the occasional caress of her delicate fingers rubbing something soothing over Barry’s half-sore, half-numb skin.

Through the din and constant shift between feeling content, nothingness, and pain, Barry remembered what had happened. All he could think was that the king had to be so worried, while also blaming himself, which was why his voice wasn’t among the rest.

“That should stabilize him,” Caitlin’s voice came more clearly, Barry finally picking up on real words, as he turned toward the sound and blinked with blurred vision. “Barry,” she said, her face swimming into view, “you’re going to be fine, but the damage to your skin… it might never completely heal. How do you feel?”

“F-foggy,” He struggled to move his mouth.

“That’s normal with everything we gave you to help the pain. Once it all wears off, you shouldn’t need more, the wounds are no longer open or necrotic, but…”

“Scars don’t bother me.” Barry curved his mouth into a smile—or as much of one as he could manage with a heavy head. “The king? Is he…?”

“He’s in his throne room,” Oliver said from somewhere nearby, but Barry couldn’t lift his head enough to look.

Beyond Caitlin, he thought he could tell where they were now, in a back corner of the alchemist tower, on a healer’s bed that was almost never used, since no one in the castle ever got sick.

“He won’t go into his chambers,” Oliver continued, “even with the bed destroyed and so much of it iced over already. It was strange being there. Besides Hartley, first on the scene, Caitlin and I are the only ones to ever enter those rooms since before the curse.

“Well, and besides _you_ , Emerald Prince. If Hartley hadn’t fetched us so swiftly—”

“But I _was_ swift,” Hartley’s windswept voice interrupted whatever Oliver might have added. “And now I can tell the king that his fretting is for naught. His little prince is fine.”

“Wait…” Barry croaked, turning his head the other way, though it took more effort than the first time, his mind as sluggish as if he’d drank a bottle of wine. He wasn’t certain if Hartley’s ghostly form floated before him, or if he was merely imagining it, but he said, “Tell the king… tell him… it’s okay. Not just me. _We’re_ okay. Nothing has to change. I know how he must be blaming himself, but _I_ don’t. I have no regrets, not one, about being in this castle or with him. Promise you’ll tell him?”

Hartley was quiet, and Barry feared he’d already vanished, until he whispered, “Okay,” and then he did vanish, removing some of the haziness from Barry’s eyeline.

“There are others who are worried,” Oliver said, a strong hand patting Barry’s ankle at the end of the bed. “I’ll let them know. Heal well, Barry.”

“Thank you.”

The combination of treatments Caitlin provided were more than enough to soothe Barry, and while some of the numbness might be as permanent as the scars he hadn’t yet seen, the pain eventually ebbed completely. Soon, he could sit up and look around, confirming where he was, though Caitlin insisted he rest and avoid lying on his back until evening.

It was annoying staying on his front or side, but Barry wouldn’t have minded if the hours hadn’t ticked by without Hartley bringing any returning message from the king. Eventually, he was able to sit up, and did so in the company of good friends.

Mark had come in by then too, since it was his tower. He feigned lack of concern, but Barry knew him well enough now to notice the relief in his voice when he said, “If you can sit up and chat, I hardly believe you can’t be useful and _work_.”

“Mark…” Shawna warned, sitting at Barry’s bedside with Cisco and Axel.

Barry smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. Although he was grateful for his friends, he ached to see only one face today.

Axel had tried out a few new tales to cheer him up. Shawna had tried jokes. Cisco had excitedly told Barry of the day’s most recent experiments. None of it lifted Barry’s melancholy.

Wynn had visited too, among others, even Ralph, who’d peeked his head in with a wiggle of his nose. The visits from the court members, however, made Barry sadder, because they and his other closest friends all made up couples that he envied.

Mark and Shawna ribbed each other ceaselessly but always managed to share a warm smile that spoke of their deeper connection.

Hartley and Axel were lighter in their teasing and often fell into somewhat vulgar—yet adorable—promises for when night fell.

Lisa and Cisco were sweet and affectionate, even during daylight hours when they couldn’t touch.

And Mick and Caitlin were just as sweet, however subdued, now that Barry had seen them together more often. Mick would grumble like usual, but then call her, “Caity,” so offhandedly, and she’d smile in a way Barry hadn’t seen any signs of his first week at the castle.

It all just made him more aware that one person hadn’t come to visit like the rest.

“Axel, can you call Hartley for me?” Barry asked.

“Call me yourself.” Hartley appeared. Even now, Barry forgot sometimes how easy it was to catch the Spymaster’s attention.

“Are you sure the king didn’t have a message for me?” Barry asked in a small voice, feeling exposed with such a vulnerable question spoken with an audience, but then, most of his visitors had stopped by before someone finally brought him trousers.

Hartley’s features pinched, unmistakable no matter how transparent his face was. “He didn’t say anything, Barry, not a word, even after I passed on what you’d said. I’m sorry.”

It had been a fool’s hope, knowing the king as he did now, but one mistake was not going to ruin what they’d found together. “Caitlin!” Barry called. Even tucked back from the main part of the tower, he could still see the edge of the worktables and Caitlin and Mark’s bustling forms.

She leaned around the corner with an inquisitive brow.

“I feel fine now. Sore and tired, but I’ve rested enough. Please, may I have your blessing to leave?”

“I suppose…” Her brow pinched like Hartley’s, “but if you feel unwell or notice any returning pain—”

“I’ll come right back here. Hartley, tell me where he is.” Barry tossed the sheets aside. He was meagerly dressed in trousers and a simple untucked shirt now, but he didn’t care how unkempt or casual he looked. 

Shawna and Axel both scooted back their chairs to give him room, and Cisco jumped up to help him stand. Then his eyes widened when their skin touched with a customary gasp.

“What is it?” Barry asked, not needing the assistance but appreciating Cisco’s support. “Was it something important you saw?”

His friend’s face seemed alarmed and almost pale despite his dark complexion. “I, uhh… no, it’s nothing. I just realized this must be why I kept thinking you needed more cold draught. I hate when I don’t understand my visions enough to help.”

“Don’t blame yourself. But are you sure that’s all?” Barry had known Cisco a long time, and there was more than regret on his face.

There was fear.

“It’s nothing,” Cisco said again, covering his trepidation with an anxious smile. “Go see the king.”

Barry knew his friend would tell him the truth in time, but for now, he had somewhere else to be.

Hartley told him the way, and he accepted the supportive nods from his friends before leaving the alchemist tower on determined bare feet.

XXXXX

Len had sat on his throne for hours, staring at nothing, even when Hartley floated in to tell him that all was well and delivered Barry’s expectedly naive message.

When Hartley pressed for an answer, Len had simply sent him away. He’d already known Barry would live after seeing him on his bed chamber floor, but the cost, how close things had come to turning out so much worse, was unforgiveable. Couldn’t Barry see that?

Len wasn’t in his throne room any longer. He’d finally gotten up only to discover the scarf that had once covered Barry’s eyes lying on the floor in front of the still open door to his private rooms. He couldn’t touch it, couldn’t go into those rooms and see the damage he’d done just by being in there. He’d had to get away.

Maybe he should have gone to the ramparts or the garden, but his monstrous feet had brought him into the secret tunnels to the library. More hours had passed now, and he hadn’t turned a single page. He barely even remembered what book was on his pedestal before he and Barry had started reading together instead.

“Shall I have Hartley fetch _Pillars of Virtue_?” Barry’s voice nearly caused Len to topple over backward.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, hunkered in his trench, as Barry came in, looking weak and all manner of disheveled without a doublet or even shoes. “You should be resting. Are you mad?”

“So you keep trying to claim, majesty, but I know what I am doing and what I want.” Barry’s eyes held all their usual emerald brightness. He sat, tired and frail as he looked, right at the edge of the trench and far too close to Len. “I’m fine,” he said, as though Len were a child needing comfort. “I really mean it about the book. I can rest sitting right here, have Hartley fetch it, and we can—”

“Get out.” Len rose with a heave, so furious at the young prince’s negligence that he could barely see clearly.

“Majesty—”

“We are no longer having audiences. Not in the mornings, not now, and not when the sun sets.”

“You’d just run?” Barry yelled after him, when Len tried to turn and flee. “You’d run like a coward and turn me away, after we—”

“After I nearly killed you?!” Len howled back, whirling so fast and fierce, a burst of ice filled the trench about his feet, proving the threat he was to everything around him. “Yes, I’ll run. I’ll get as far from you as I can, until it finally sinks in that you will only find despair here, and I will not let you make me be the cause of it. I’ve caused enough…

“Go home,” Len swallowed the catch in his throat that Barry’s eyes filling with moisture conjured so easily. “Once you’ve solved your precious potion, go home. Tell your people that I will accept no more offerings and build a new kingdom that never thinks on us again.”

“ _No_.” Barry sucked in several breaths to stay his tears. “Love can beat anything. If only you’d—”

“There is no love for you here!” Len cried, clutching the cracks of his icy chest to indicate the hollow shell beneath. “There is nothing but a cold, unfeeling thing that wants to be left to its prison.

“There will be no more audiences. There will be no more words between us. Do not waste your time on me any longer. Finish what you started to find justice for your mother, and then _Go. Home._

“There is no love for you here,” he said again, “only regret, misery, and scars you didn’t earn.”

“I don’t care about scars,” Barry choked on the sobs he could no longer keep away, standing on shaky legs and moving closer to Len along the edge of the trough with tears streaming down that stopped when he got too near and froze on his cheeks. “Not mine or yours. It was an _accident_.”

Len slid backward, putting as much space between them as he could with a stride. “Next time, it might be your life. Follow me,” he warned, even if the threat fell far flatter than it once would have, “and it will be.” He tried to make it to the tunnel entrance in only a few steps, but Barry called brokenly after him.

“Len, please… I love you.”

Len couldn’t turn. If he did, his own frozen tear tracks would be visible too. “Sometimes love isn’t enough,” he said and made his escape. 

For once, Barry didn’t follow, no footsteps or added words echoing after him. Even so, Len couldn’t bear being in the tunnels, in his throne room once he reached it, or near his ruined chambers.

He went up to the ramparts and looked out toward the Mystic Valley, wondering if the Fairy Queen, hidden by some invisible veil that made the lands look empty, was staring back, witnessing his suffering and laughing.

XXXXX

“Did you hear us, Barry?”

Barry blinked from gazing down at his bowl of soup. He should be starving. He hadn’t eaten much of anything yesterday while recovering in the alchemist tower. He’d barely slept last night. Now, it was lunchtime, his back feeling no more pain and the most scarred parts feeling nothing but numbness, yet he’d still hardly touched any food.

Len refused to see him again. He wouldn’t last night or for their regular audience that morning. He was set on his words to end this and had become a retreating ice trail everywhere Barry sought him. The only words he’d spoken were to tell Barry once again to go home.

“Sorry, can you repeat what you were saying?” Barry smiled somberly at his friends across from him. He, Cisco, and Shawna had all come from the alchemist tower, where Barry had tried to bury himself in work, but he’d been too distracted to be of much use.

The others had been fruitful, however—more than he’d realized.

“We said,” Cisco explained softly, “that with only a few more ingredients and hard work for another day or two, we should finally have the right combination to identify the potion used on Caitlin’s husband and your mother. We’re almost there, Barry.” He smiled, but it was so obviously pitying for everything else Barry was going through.

“That’s wonderful.” Barry tried to smile back anyway. “Do we have everything we need for the final tests?”

“Some extra hemlock would be useful,” Shawna said. “We’ve narrowed it as one of the last ingredients. I was going to forage for some after lunch.”

“Would you mind if I went to get it?”

“We’ll go together.”

“I’d… prefer to go alone.”

Shawna and Cisco exchanged pensive looks.

“I’ll be fine,” Barry insisted.

“Barry,” Shawna tried, “you know we don’t usually allow—”

“Please, I need to think, to clear my head, and… I could use the air.” Everywhere in the castle was a suffocating reminder of the king’s avoidance, especially when Barry found ice. “I’ll have my weapons with me. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

They exchanged more troubled looks, like so many inhabitants of the castle had been acting around Barry as if it was his first week all over again.

He was ready to plead his case further, when Shawna said, “Okay, but if you’re not back in time for dinner, I’m sicking Mark after you.”

Fragments of a real smile twitched at Barry’s lips, but fragments couldn’t form a complete picture. “Thank you.” He stood and grabbed his soup to dump it.

“Wait.” Cisco reached across the table. “Maybe I should—”

 _Touch him,_ Barry thought and flinched out of reach. “Sorry, but… If it’s all the same, right now, I don’t want to know what comes next.”

He expected Cisco to follow him, expected every second of his trek to collect his weapons belt and cloak that Cisco would catch up and try to stop him, or suddenly appear and grab his arm to read his future.

_Love, death, and blue eyes in a sea of white._

It was all true, it was all _here_ , but if death was how this ended, no matter how much Cisco had said things didn’t have to turn out the way that sounded, then Barry didn’t want to see it coming.

He hurried out of the castle. He was rarely ever alone inside its walls, and he hadn’t been alone outside since before Shawna took him on his first forage. It was the end of January now and reaching the bitterest temperatures. Besides taking his cloak, Barry had downed an extra resistance draught to protect against the elements.

It had snowed sometime recently, and his boots sank deep into the mounds covering the path he and Shawna took to reach the edge of the wood. He didn’t have to look up to know the way, only down at his feet to keep steady. The bag slung over his shoulder would soon be filled with hemlock and whatever else he found that was deemed worthy to add to the tower stores.

Anywhere but the Frozen Kingdom, hemlock wouldn’t flourish until early spring, but here, within the grounds of the castle, various greenery and flowers could be found all year round, even peeking out of snow drifts. Barry knew exactly where the grounds ended, because there was a hard line where that strange mix of life and death stopped. He could see it in the first line of trees, still mossy or budding, only for the second line to be completely barren.

Sometimes Barry forgot that, technically, his weeks here hadn’t aged him. Nothing here aged, and yet, the seasons came and went in their own way like a mockery.

Reaching several sprigs of hemlock, almost hidden with their white flowers so similar to the snow, but arching up on green stems, Barry began to pick them as he’d been tight and carefully bundled them away. The monotonous action cleared his mind as he had hoped, but the melancholy he felt only seemed to set deeper.

How could he prove the king wrong if he wouldn’t even speak to him?

Or maybe Barry was the one who was wrong…

Only when his hands ached from the cold did he realize it had been hours, his bag full, and his potion losing its potency. He glanced back at the castle up on the hill, pristine and beautiful when once he’d thought it ominous. He had a duty to his own kingdom, to his mother’s memory, but there was so much more he could do here.

He knew, selfishly, that the real reason he didn’t want to go home was because he’d finally found his love, and in a place where no one shamed him for it.

Could he really just leave…?

The crack of a stick whipped Barry’s attention back to the trees, where a pair of glowing eyes locked with his. Without moving any other part of him, Barry slowly reached for his swords.

The glowing eyes drew nearer, and soon, a familiar form stepped into the light from out of the wood—a thin but slightly less emaciated wolf than how Barry had last seen him.

Another stick cracked, even though the wolf had stopped moving, and a second wolf slipped out from behind the first. This wolf was smaller but still fully grown, a _mate_ , if Barry were to guess, judging by the way it nudged the larger wolf’s side, and then began to growl at Barry.

But the first wolf nudged back and didn’t growl in kind, as if to say, _No, there is nothing to fear._ The wolf that had nearly killed Barry all those weeks ago had been healed, nourished, and left in peace to try at survival once again, and with that gift, he’d found another.

There was no tension in his haunches as he ducked his head at Barry like a bow.

“Mercy begets mercy…” Barry said softly, bowing his head in kind, and thinking this a very magical place indeed. “I am happy for you, lone wolf, that you’re not alone anymore.” Barry had hoped his tale could be the same, but now…

The wolves’ heads snapped back into the wood, picking up on something Barry couldn’t hear, and then they took off running the opposite direction down the line of trees.

Barry hefted the bag over his shoulder, turned where the wolves had looked, and finished drawing his swords, all in one smooth sequence. He feared a bear, if the wolves were running, but in the darkness of the trees, the figure coming toward Barry appeared to be a man.

Memory of the original sacrifice struck him all at once, who he’d let wander into those woods alone. Could it be him, running from a horde of monsters he’d found once he reached the Shadow Lands?

“Here!” Barry called, waving one of his swords in greeting. “Are you well? Do you need help?”

The figure kept hurtling toward him, the wood so dark, Barry couldn’t make out anything save his outline, but it was definitely a man. Barry started to put his swords away but hesitated.

“Hello?” he questioned, because the man hadn’t called back, and it was only when he burst from the line of trees that Barry saw him fully— _not_ the sacrifice he’d saved but a dirty and wild looking highwayman with a dagger drawn as he pitched himself at Barry.

Barry swung his swords up in an X that caught the dagger before it struck him.

“Stop! What do you want?! I—!”

The man howled, hair bedraggled and beard so busy, Barry could barely see his eyes. The man pulled his dagger free and swung at Barry’s side, but Barry brought his swords sharply to the right to deflect the blow, parrying the man once more.

“Listen! If you need coin—”

The man rushed him while his swords were pointed down, using his body to knock Barry off balance. The potion might have kept his feet from slipping normally, but it had long since waned, and the slickness of the snow sent him tumbling backward. The man fell upon him, and Barry barely managed to get his swords up into another X to stay a downward plunge of the dagger.

“Please!”

And then a sharp pain stabbed into Barry’s side—from a _second_ dagger he hadn’t seen, because the man had been holding the first in only one hand. Barry pushed him back with the force of his connected swords, but the second dagger stayed in his side, abandoned and dug in deep to the hilt. Barry could have easily bested the man, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

Shawna had said of mercy that it was easy after being shown mercy yourself, but something Eobard once told Barry rang like a gong in his head.

_Sometimes mercy merely means you end up the dead man instead._

Another howl broke the afternoon quiet, the man recovering and swinging the first dagger over his head as he dove to fall on Barry again—

Only to be caught—mid-leap by his throat—in a monstrous _icy_ grasp.

The effects were instant, a wave washing over the man as if he were a matte surface on the ground and someone had spilled a bottle of oil that burst over him, catching rainbow colors in the light.

But it wasn’t oil, and the man was far more than a soiled floor, dead now, as he wasn’t merely coated in ice but turned into it.

His neck cracked as the Ice King tightened his grip and threw the frozen highwayman into the snow, where he broke into dozens of shattered pieces. Barry’s stomach lurched, but then he hissed, because the real pain was buried deep in his side, and there was no time to mourn the madman who’d attacked him.

“You fool,” the king said, his large, hulking form hovering over where Barry lay in the snow.

“Y-you… came for me,” Barry sputtered, vision already starting to dim, and the chill of the snow feeling strangely warm…

It was the blood he was losing, he figured, after he was certain he’d passed out for a time, waking first to movement, someone lifting him, Oliver maybe, since the sun was low but not yet set.

He blacked out again, waking to the bob of his body being carried up stairs, likely to the tower to see Caitlin.

He came to for a while with Caitlin’s face above him, but time drifted like a lazy river, his mind never fully asleep or alert, until at last, he gasped awake and sprang his eyes wide to find himself in his own bed.

“Len…” Barry exhaled, wishing so desperately to see him.

Had he dreamed it all? But no, he wore only loose trousers with his chest bare, and there were bandages about his waist where the dagger had pierced him. It was after dark now, and only a lone candle flickered on his nightstand.

“You fool…” the king answered his call, echoing his words from before, but his voice was different— _human_ with the sun set.

Human and in Barry’s room.

A rush of air came at Barry, upsetting the candle and casting overlapping shadows and light over the face of a man, right there above him, with firm hands planting on either side of Barry’s shoulders on the bed.

“Why do you keep putting yourself in danger to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?!”

Barry stared. The wolf? The bandit? But no, he knew the truth.

Because he could finally _see_ him—the man who didn’t want to be saved.

“Len…” he whispered, trembling hands reaching up to cup that elusive face.

The scars felt the same beneath his palms as when he was blindfolded, and the eyes, oh, those eyes could belong to no one else. Now, the rest of the picture was painted before him in candlelight.

Len tried to pull away, eyes darting to the sheets as if he wished he could hide, having allowed this without meaning to, but Barry held firm.

His features were perfectly symmetrical—straight nose, high cheekbones, firm jaw—with wavy locks of snow-white falling into his eyes, even with white eyebrows, like a lasting part of the curse clinging to him even at night.

Like the scars that covered so much of him. Barry had been prepared from what he had felt, but now, he could see them, over Len’s lips, his eyebrows, everywhere. No battle-hardened warrior knight could compete with all that damage.

But, to Barry, he was beautiful. The scar tissue, the despair in his eyes that he didn’t deserve to feel, none of that mattered. Barry took in everything before him and loved it all. He would wipe that despair away and prove to Len that he was right.

“I loved you before I knew anything more than the wonder of your eyes. Now, I can say without falter… _Len_ … that I love you, _all_ of you, and I will never stop trying to save you.” He stroked his thumbs over Len’s cheeks and pulled him down further, forcing Len’s eyes to meet his. “Thank you. For saving me, and for giving me this.” He kissed him, closing his eyes only for a moment, so he could draw away and look at Len again.

Maybe he was blinded by love. Maybe loving someone made them beautiful to you regardless. Either way, though Barry knew he could never understand the grief Len felt or why he’d hid for so long, it wasn’t his duty to understand. It was his duty to love Len and to show him that love however he could.

“Please, my king, oh please believe me… I love you.”

XXXXX

Len hadn’t thought, hadn’t paused even for a moment to consider what he was allowing, until it was too late. Barry had seen him now… but he’d done nothing more than smile and kiss him in the aftermath.

No one else had seen Len tonight. Others had come for Barry at the tree line, carried him and cared for him until his wound was closed. Only after it was deemed safe to leave Barry in his own bed did Len tell everyone to stay away so that, once the sun set, he could enter Barry’s room as himself.

He’d wanted to berate him, to end this once and for all, to scream at Barry all the reasons why this would never turn out the way he wanted. But now, Barry was looking into his eyes while holding his face—his _human_ face, scarred with all the wrongs he’d committed during life, and he still said the same words.

“I love you.”

How he could see Len, truly see him, and still say that?

“Don’t push me away. Don’t tell me to go home. Let me show you that this curse can be broken if only you’d let me melt the ice caging your heart.” His hold on Len’s face became gentler, loose enough that Len could have pulled away if he’d truly tried, but then Barry slid one hand to the back of Len’s neck and drew him down again.

His lips were always soft and warm. Len had feared, with so many scars covering him, that knowing someone’s touch again would be the real curse, because he wouldn’t be able to feel it through the numbness. But he could feel Barry, every nerve igniting at the barest brush of skin.

Len clamored up onto the bed to get closer to him, falling deeper into their kiss. The covers had fallen to Barry’s waist, and Len climbed atop him in the mere trousers and shirt he’d snatched from his chambers before diving back into the tunnels to get here. Barry was in trousers only, but Len’s hands sliding from the mattress to his chest and lean stomach reminded him of the bandages where he’d been stabbed.

“You’re hurt,” Len panted between delves of their tongues.

“Then you… will be gentle,” Barry panted back and dug his fingers into Len’s hair to bring him down again.

Len had to be gentle. He could be gentle. Barry was strong and could usually handle however Len might flip him or roughly pin him to the bed, but no matter how effective the healing potion Caitlin had given him, Len had to be gentle now, unless he was willing to walk away, and he… he couldn’t.

He should. He should retreat and end this, but the thought of that hurt more than any jagged pierces of the ice into his skin when morning came.

Keeping his hands on the bed or tentative down Barry’s hips, mindful of the wound in his side, Len straddled the prince’s waist and ground into him, kissing him deeply once more. Each twirl of Barry’s tongue was rapture, though he always pulled away between presses of their mouths to look at Len and smile again before he claimed his lips with another press.

The longing in Barry’s emerald eyes spurred Len to sink against him. Barry shoved his trousers down, and then shoved Len’s down too, clawing at Len’s shirt like he’d never been so desperate to be rid of clothing. Len tore and kicked it all away, until they were bare and grinding and kicking down the covers too.

But Barry stopped, grabbed hold of Len, and rolled them. He spread Len out, taking in the full form of him, head to toe, like taking nourishment in the view.

Len hadn’t had anyone’s eyes on him this intimately since before the curse. The rest of his body was as scarred as his face, worse, and even the hair between his legs had been turned white from the ice so deep-seated within him when once he’d been as brunette as Lisa.

Barry saw it all and continued to smile, no guile, just contentment, as he drew a hand from Len’s face down his neck and chest and hips to his thighs, and then further between his legs. Len gasped as the prince’s fingers curled around his length. It was hardly the first time Barry had touched him, but it was the first time with his eyes on him.

Slowly, Barry started to stroke him, shifting closer to lift one leg over Len’s hips and straddle his thigh—only to hiss and fall back with a twinge.

Len moved after him, concerned at first, but then amused by Barry’s pout. Carefully, Len pulled Barry to him, but it was then that he felt the far too similar scars covering Barry’s back.

Len ran a hand up and down the expanse. Across Barry’s shoulder blades, down the center, and as low as his waist, the scars Len had caused could be felt like the surface of an oil painting. Len didn’t have to see them to know how they must look, so like his own bare skin.

“Barry…”

“I don’t care,” Barry said, smoothing a palm over Len’s chest and resting it over his heart. “All that matters… is this.”

Len’s heart was beating wildly, and as he slid his hand from Barry’s back to mimic the gesture, he felt Barry’s pounding just as fierce.

He rolled Barry onto his back, Barry’s hand returning to between Len’s legs and joined by Len’s own, connecting their heated cocks. With Barry sprawled and comfortable, Len straddled his thigh instead, rocking their slick lengths together, while his hand curled around Barry, and Barry’s remained on him.

It was a synchronized clash of fervent pumping through budding wetness, with only so much movement allowed without risk of hurting Barry, but it was enough. Any time Barry’s eyes closed, they opened again, locking on Len’s or straying down his body. He truly did love and want everything he saw even though Len was ruined… and had ruined him too.

“ _Barry_ ,” Len gasped again, foregoing the use of his hand to rut with more urgency, half at Barry’s side and half atop him, thrusting with a maddened need to release while those emerald eyes were on him.

“Len… oh, Len,” Barry mewled back, weak and struggling for breath, but still pumping upward to meet him. His hand fell away too, leaving them as two mindlessly grinding bodies, slick with sweat and the moisture from their cocks, until Barry’s gasps grew harsher, and then Len’s did too, and they finished almost overlapping.

“I… I love you, Barry,” Len said, too caught up in the moment to hold the words back. 

The smile Barry graced him with then was more breathtaking than any Len had yet seen. Barry took his face in his hands once more, kissed him again, and held him close, never once believing that this bliss between them wouldn’t last.

Len knew better, but oh, how he wished it could…

XXXXX

Barry awoke with a creeping feeling of déjà vu, but there was no body wrapped around him and no increasing pain from deadly cold.

Of course, Len hadn’t stayed in bed with him after what happened last time, but when Barry rolled over, he found him still in the room, sitting in a chair, looking at Barry with a soft expression. 

They’d done it, Len would see. The curse was lifted now that he’d confessed his love back to Barry and…

And…

And then the sun rose outside the castle walls, prompting Len to stand with a wince and move for the door, so he wouldn’t leave too long an ice trail when the curse finished taking him and remade him into the beast.

Take him it did, the first time Barry had seen the change happen, when he’d thought… he’d hoped that he could be enough to end it.

It looked so painful, the strain on Len’s face and tension in his steps that stuttered and stopped when he reached the door. His beautiful, scarred, naked body seemed to grow the ice out of itself, stretching and deforming him, and causing Barry to shiver from the expulsion of cold and pull the covers tighter around him.

The Ice King wasn’t ugly to him, he never had been—frightening maybe—but now, the sight of him made Barry’s heart sink.

The king looking back at him with so much sorrow and shame in his expression only made it worse.

“But I… I love you,” Barry said miserably.

“And I you,” Len repeated without taking back the words he’d said last night, “but as I told you, little prince, sometimes love isn’t enough.”

He left, and Barry stared at his now iced over doorknob, wondering what he’d done wrong to fail his love so terribly.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is just as mean as the last... sorry in advance!

“Liar!” Barry kicked the gate leading out to the Mystic Valley.

He had bathed and dressed and carefully removed the bandages to his wound that potions had already healed to smooth scar tissue, but every monotonous act only fueled his rage.

“Witch!” he cried, because this was the Fairy Queen’s fault!

She cast the curse without following her own rules!

“Why are you doing this to him?!” He kicked the gate again, and then grabbed its bars and shook them in his fury, nearly upsetting the frozen-over latch.

“ _My_ , you have a temper.”

Barry reared back with a gasp, instinct bringing his hands to his hilts, as he looked up—upon a radiant figure perched on the castle wall.

He’d put on his sword belt, his treasured dagger, and his winter cloak before going outside, and now he stood before the queen of the elves herself.

Barry had heard stories of her power and beauty—beauty that could swindle and corrupt, for the tales painted all elves and anyone with magic as sinister and vile. He hadn’t believed it, but his anger at her now made him wonder if those stories were true.

She certainly was beautiful. Dark skin and eyes, her hair in lovely long waves pinned even more intricately than Shawna’s and twisted into a thick braid over one shoulder. Within her hair were flowers and delicate vines, as well as a crown of golden antlers that could easily have been mistaken for horns. Her gown was made of such rich shades of violet, indigo, and blue that, for as perfectly fit as her corset was, the flowing silk of her skirts and hanging majestically from her sleeves did indeed make her look more like a fairy than an elf.

She had no wings, however, just her pointed ears adorned in cuffs of glittering gold that matched her crown. She looked as equally like a goddess of the wood as a high queen in a grand city.

Save her dainty feet, bare beneath her skirts as she dangled them from her spot on the wall. She was smiling, but Barry held his guard. He’d never believed his angry ranting would actually reach her.

“You mean to mock me?” He clenched his jaw to keep from stuttering, hands still on the hilts of his swords, even if a swipe of steel might mean nothing against her magic.

“I mean to talk to you, Emerald Prince. It hasn’t been often enough that you’ve come this close to my gate.”

“As if you’d need such formality, _highness_.”

She clicked her tongue at him, leaning back on the wall, as if she weren’t an ethereal vision, but a simple peasant girl enjoying a nice day outdoors. “Such venom. No need to call me that, or ‘Fairy Queen’. Those are just titles. May I call you Barry? Because please… call me Iris.”

The tension in Barry’s stance faltered. It was said that true names could be powerful among those who wielded magic. Had she truly given him hers?

But then, Barry had no magic himself, only science, and only his swords and dagger on him now.

“You wish to talk to me? Why?”

“It seemed you wished to talk to _me_.”

Barry fidgeted in the snow. “I thought you’d long since moved from these lands, but the king implied you were still out there. It all looks empty.” He glanced through the bars of the gate.

A thud drew his attention back to her, where she stood in the snow, having leapt from the wall, her bare feet hidden by her gown. Being so close to a figure he’d thought mythical only a few weeks prior reminded him of when he first met the Ice King.

With her glowing smile, she opened her arms, gesturing him to her. He hesitated but figured he had nothing to lose.

Her hands were warm as one curled around his back to lead him forward, the other taking one of his hands to wrap around a single bar of the gate. As soon as his fingers closed, it was like being thrown through the castle wall, hurtling blindingly fast down the hill and into the valley below.

Barry knew his feet hadn’t actually left the castle grounds, but he saw it all as if he had, like a soaring eagle. Reaching the edge of the valley that indeed looked abandoned like the Frozen Kingdom’s city and villages, a ripple appeared in front of Barry. The ripples parted like the sheer drapes of the king’s bedchamber, revealing so much beyond the veil that he could hardly take it all in.

Cities and towns stretched here too, but these were bustling, both outside the forest edges and within. The woods here were far removed from the Shadow Lands on the other side of the king’s hill, lush and magical, with all sorts of dazzling sights in every direction.

There were humans, elves, half-elves. Barry thought he even saw fairies—real fairies—dancing in the wind. He realized, however, that among all the people he saw, no one ever drew close to the veil. He assumed so they wouldn’t be seen by those outside it, but realization grew within him that they were in fact trapped. Happy with their lot but unable to leave.

His vision zoomed forward again to a glittering castle, then inside where he saw the Fairy Queen’s throne. She sat upon it, eyes closed, as if to show Barry that the real her was there, and the one with him was a phantom.

Beside her throne was a smaller one with a human man in equal finery to hers but with a smaller antlered crown. He was handsome, gazing adoringly up at her, blond and blue-eyed, but clean-shaven and far more sweet-faced than Oliver or Mark. If that was her husband, Prince Consort to her kingdom, then Barry understood why a younger Len had tried to court him.

“You too, hm?”

All at once, Barry returned to himself, staring at his hand on the bars.

“I think he’s quite handsome too, but he is taken.”

Barry pulled back, shrinking away from her and turning to look upon her form once more. “You’re not real?”

“I’m real.” She tilted her head at him. “Think of it as a long-distance conversation with a nicer view.”

“Why can’t you leave the valley?” Barry demanded.

“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid,” she cringed. “Magic has its rules. But I can tell you to not give up. This kingdom, yours, and mine all have something to gain.

“King Leonard told you the words of the curse?”

Barry’s heart was still racing from the rush of all he’d seen, and he was skeptical that he could trust the source of all this misery. “Yes. I don’t remember exactly, but… I know he said you told the others that when his heart melts and he is a true King, the spell will be broken.” He felt his anger resurface at the memory and spat back at her, “Is loving me not enough to prove his heart has melted?”

“Toward you?” she said, soft and compassionate, still a vision in violet. “Toward his people, his family, and friends? Of course. But a true king sees value in himself too.”

What she meant soothed Barry’s anger but not the hollow ache. “He… he loves me, and he is a good king, but he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of either. I should have known… The ice that remains is because he has yet to forgive _himself_.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will continue to prove to him that he is wrong.” Barry squared his shoulders before the Fairy Queen— _Iris_. “But that does not absolve you. This curse is cruel and unfair.”

She titled her head again, a sad smile upon her lips. “You keep looking for a hero in this story. We simply all made choices, and I do not regret mine.”

“Then hero or no hero, _you_ are the villain,” he snarled. “Len is a good king, but you trapped him in a life he never wanted.”

“He had to accept responsibility. After his father died, as the new king of these lands, he could have changed anything he wanted. He could have taken a prince, if that was his desire, changed the laws to pass his kingdom to his sister, denounced the thrown for another leader to take his place. Instead, he chose to be carousing, irresponsible, and apathetic, and he has paid for it.”

“And his sister and friends and far too many others paid for it too!”

Still, she did not rise to his challenge, her voice calm. “Are they so miserable or have they each found their own happiness?”

“That isn’t enough either. What of those who died unjustly? The accidents? What of all the years lost? What about _my_ kingdom? All this only perpetuated a fear of magic and the idea that people are disposable.”

“Those choices are the responsibility of those who made them, but not everything is as it seems, Emerald Prince. This was never meant to have gone on for so long.” Again, she looked sad, even though she said she wasn’t regretful. “My magic is not infallible. I can’t explain everything, but I came to tell you that the curse can be lifted. You must do what the Sapphire King could not and trust—”

“Barry!”

His attention snapped away from her toward Oliver, racing from the castle, followed by a dozen of the strongest fighters Barry knew, all armed, with Cisco trailing behind in a hurry.

They must have seen—

He startled when he turned back to Iris, because she was gone, and he somehow knew that, if he told the others about his audience with the Fairy Queen, none would say they’d seen any sign that she had been there.

Trust? Trust what?

Trust who?

“What’s happened?” Barry asked of the others when they joined him at the west gate.

“Emerald banners,” Oliver said with a hard edge, bow in hand. “There’s a platoon approaching the castle.”

“It’s Eobard,” Cisco panted. “He’s leading them. They must have figured out where you’d gone.”

Barry had known it was only a matter of time, but he hadn’t believed Eobard would bring a whole platoon after him.

“If they try to get in, we’ll have to open fire,” Oliver said plainly. “They won’t understand. They expect monsters here, and we need them to believe that. If they find only a hundred simple people trying to live their lives, and five, poor cursed souls, they’ll wipe us all out as easily as they sent us here as sacrifices.”

They would. They’d assume everyone here was bewitched, the elves and half-elves worthy of death simply for what they were. Barry had only been thinking of Cisco when he came here, but he’d stayed for selfish reasons, and now, disaster was at the gates.

“I’ll talk to them.”

“You can’t.” Oliver grabbed his arm before he could move past them. “I promised the king that I would never let anything else happen to you.”

The earnest admission made Barry smile. He’d been lucky, the only reason he hadn’t frozen on the spot the other morning because the king hadn’t been fully transformed when he pulled away. If it hadn’t been for Oliver and Caitlin, and Hartley who’d fetched them, Barry still might have died from the shock or been far worse off than merely scarred.

Oliver had saved him again when he carried him from the edge of the wood after being stabbed.

Gripping his forearm in kind, Barry swore to him, “You won’t fail that promise. Eobard would never hurt me.”

“Barry, wait.” Cisco grabbed after him this time, not gasping at the contact but taking in a deep breath as a new vision washed through him.

No, not new, Barry realized. The resignation on his face said it was one he’d seen before.

“I don’t know what it means, or how to prevent it, but what I saw yesterday… and what I just saw again… was everyone in this castle dead.” Cisco let the weight of that sink in, twisting Barry’s insides with nausea. “It was carnage, everything completely razed, but you… you had a shadow over you, Barry, like the future is not yet set.”

The future was never set, Barry had learned, both from Cisco’s visions and the life he’d led. “That’s why I have to go.” He pulled Cisco in tight against him, embracing his like he had the last time he saw him in Emerald before the guards took him away. “If I don’t, they’ll storm in and prove that vision true, but I can stop it.”

“Open the gates!” Eobard’s voice rang from the castle entrance. “We know you have our prince! You were given your allotted sacrifice! Now, release the prince at once!”

“You see?” Barry squeezed Cisco once more before pulling away. “It’ll be all right. Eobard thinks I’ve been kidnapped. He’ll see reason if I go out there. I was always going to have to go home to explain, to change my father’s mind about all this. Please, don’t stop me.” He gazed imploringly at Cisco, and then at Oliver.

Oliver’s hard eyes softened. He nodded.

“Wait,” Cisco said again, but when Barry readied a protest, all his friend did was push a piece of parchment into his hands. “Take this. It’s my notes on the last version of the potion. It’s not finished. We know we’re still missing something, but if you don’t come back…”

If he never came back, then he had to finish the potion on his own and try to resolve all he had yet to discover.

“I will come back,” Barry promised but still took the parchment, tucking it into his cloak.

He looked up at the castle. Much as he longed to see a familiar, hulking form, he knew it would be foolish for the king to up on the ramparts. There was the brief blur of movement anyway, but that was others staying hidden while readying bows on Oliver’s orders, no doubt. The king was nowhere to be seen.

Barry hoped he understood…

With his swords, dagger, and cloak, he didn’t need to return to his room and there wasn’t time if he did. He believed, however, as he finally made for the gates, that someday soon, he would return.

XXXXX

Staying out of sight when strangers were within eyeline of the castle was one of the Frozen Kingdom’s most important tenets. Let all who would look upon their prison from afar think it a mystery too terrifying to breach.

Len followed that rule now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch from his throne room, remaining carefully in the shadows, as Barry marched to the castle entrance.

Len hadn’t slept at all the other night, just cleaned what he could of his chambers and turned his bed into kindling, so that now, he had nothing in that spot anymore where a bed had once been. He didn’t need sleep, after all, and he hoped he never dream again.

“Hartley,” Len said low beneath his breath, “carry their words to me.”

Without turning to see Hartley appear or obey, Len felt the rush of a bitter breeze, and with it came the distant voices of those at the gates.

Barry was a smart prince, ensuring the entrance closed behind him quickly so that none of the soldiers outside could catch too much of a glimpse of the castle grounds—though the ice sculptures were difficult to miss.

Len saw many of the men shift uneasily on their horses.

“General Eobard!” Barry called to the armored man at the front, who wore a full helmet that obscured his face.

Eobard…

“There’s no need to go any further. I’m not a prisoner, and I will return with you. We shall retreat, now, for I have much to discuss with my father.”

The soldiers shifted once more, only Eobard holding firm as he looked down on Barry from his horse.

“This place is known for dark magic,” Eobard said, “and you have been gone for weeks. Prove you are our prince.”

Not a fool, this general, and Barry wisely nodded, understanding his cynicism.

At first raising his hands to show he held no weapons, Barry slowly reached down to retrieve his dagger and held it aloft. “When you gave me this on my eighteenth birthday, you told me to keep it close, always. I may have misplaced it a time or two, General, but I did not fail you.”

There was a long pause, but Eobard must have deemed the dagger and Barry’s words enough, because he dismounted, removed his helmet to set it on his saddle, and approached Barry.

He was handsome, about Barry’s same height, like Len, and built similarly too. He was older, a few years older than Len had been before the curse, but very proud and dashing.

As he neared Barry, Len was ready to leap from the window and launch an icy attack if this was a trick, but all the man did was loose his hands from the hilts of his weapons and embrace Barry boldly.

“I have missed you, my prince.”

Barry hugged him back just as tightly. “I’ve missed you too. Let’s go home.”

A stinging chill pierced Len’s chest like the first rays of dawn.

Eobard led Barry to his horse, replaced his helmet, and helped Barry into the saddle behind him. Barry was leaving without a fuss—without saying goodbye.

“Majesty!”

Len turned slowly to the entrance of his throne room. It was Oliver, and Len expected to see Hartley, but Lisa and the rest of the court had arrived too.

“Cisco had a vision,” Oliver said. “The prince believes he must return to the Emerald Kingdom to prevent a war. I have my men on the ramparts, awaiting orders. What should we do?”

_War?_ Maybe that was true, but Barry would have had to go eventually anyway. “There’s no need to fire on them or pursue. The prince is going of his own accord. Now, leave me.” Len turned back to the window to watch the retreating horses.

Now once did Barry turn back but held onto Eobard’s waist.

Len could no longer hear them, and the eerie silence dug the ice in his chest deeper.

“It’s a ruse,” Hartley said. “To bide time and speak with his father.”

“We didn’t finish the potion,” Mark announced. “He has to come back.”

“Of course, he’s coming back,” Mick growled.

Len didn’t say anything.

“Lenny…” Lisa spoke more softly than the others.

Still, Len said nothing, staring after the Emerald banners until they were but specks in the distance.

He heard the others start to leave and finally turned his head again.

“Oliver,” he called, halting the fletcher’s leave. “Accompany me to the library to replace the book on the pedestal?” He nodded to _Pillars of Virtue_ lying closed but with its page marked with ribbon on the steps leading up to his throne. “I would like to read today.”

“Of course, majesty,” Oliver said haltingly. “Master Hartley…”

“I’ll let the archers know to stand down.” Hartley nodded and vanished with a frown. 

Lisa, Mark, and Mick were all without words as Oliver came forward to do as Len had asked.

Slowly, Len trudged into the tunnels with Oliver following. There was no point in waiting for Barry to finish the book, and besides, Len knew how the story went. It was not a happily ever after between star-crossed lovers but came to a practical end.

Like everything in the real world.

XXXXX

Barry had nearly forgotten the drudgery of the days’ travel to and from the Frozen Kingdom. Almost three days normally, and still a long two if moving swiftly, the journey was long and grueling. Barry had no potion with him to help against the cold, only his cloak and extra blankets packed by the soldiers.

The heat of Eobard’s body helped more than any blanket draped over his shoulders, but even that heat wasn’t much comfort, because the chill in Barry’s heart grew colder the further they got from the castle.

They rode all day, with minimal stops, and not once did Eobard ask anything about Barry’s time away. Barry couldn’t tell him the truth anyway. He’d promised to keep the secrets of the castle and its curse, only planning to explain everything to his father, hoping he’d understand.

Barry had to foster change, prove all was well, and return to Len to break the curse.

At nightfall, as they set up camp, Barry felt exhausted but couldn’t imagine curling up on a bedroll yet to sleep. He sat by a separate fire, asking the others to give him space, so he could study Cisco’s notes.

Something was missing from what they’d experimented on so far, but he couldn’t figure out what. More testing would have led them to the answer eventually, but Barry didn’t have that luxury on the road.

“May I join you, my prince?” Eobard came over, prompting Barry to tuck the parchment away again. “I know you requested solitude, but—”

“It’s all right,” Barry said, smiling as the general sat beside him on the blanket he’d placed before the fire. “I don’t mean to act like a brat and refuse the company of my own soldiers, I just needed time to think. I know I need to sleep.”

“You do, but there is something we need to discuss.” Eobard’s tone drew Barry’s eyes to his face, the firelight flickering over his handsome features. “I wanted to be sure we’d put at least a day’s travel between us and that… place, before I told you the truth.”

“Has something happened?”

“We weren’t sure what to think when you went missing, but recently we knew it had to be the fault of the Frozen Kingdom and their magic, because…” He closed his eyes as if deeply pained. “My deepest sympathies, my prince, but your father has fallen ill.”

_“What?”_

“It seems to be very like what killed your mother, only working slower. We know that’s why the Ice King took you along with the other sacrifice.”

“ _No_ , I…” Now Barry clenched his eyes in pain, because he’d set all this in motion. “That is not what happened. I traded places with the sacrifice. I followed you that day and chose to go to the Ice King’s castle. He and his people have nothing to do with whatever is happening to my father.”

“You can’t know that,” Eobard said staunchly. “The Ice King’s power is vast. Has he bewitched your mind—?”

“ _No_ ,” Barry said again, turning to face his mentor fully. “Eobard, I swear. That castle, that fallen kingdom, is not what you think. I wish I could tell you why…”

“Then tell me. If it is not dark magic cursing your father, then what?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it isn’t magic. It’s alchemy, and I’ve been working on figuring out the exact ingredients. If I can finish a copy of the potion, maybe I can reverse it to save my father and find whoever did this. And who first did it to my mother.”

So often was Eobard the voice of reason trying to pull Barry back from his musings and the rants he used to throw at his father, but the furrow to his brow was contemplative now, not dismissive. “You’re certain? You’re close to having proof? Some sort of… potion caused it all, even without leaving traces?”

“There is no doubt in my mind. I should have stayed in the Frozen Kingdom,” he lamented the distance between him and the castle now. “I was so close to finishing what I’d started. But I may be able to finish the potion at home. I must. My father…” he returned to Eobard in trepidation, “how bad is it?”

“He was bedridden when we left, but the physicians believed he had several more days if not weeks before the situation would be dire.”

Barry sighed in relief. There was time. “Trust me then, please? When this is all over, I will tell you everything.”

Eobard scanned Barry like he had upon his horse before accepting him as the prince he knew. “You look cared for, well-dressed and well-armed, and you don’t seem as though you’ve been bewitched… Yes, my prince, I’ll trust you, but you must know that no matter the truth, you are treading dangerous territory.”

“I know, but if I’m right—about a number of things—it will be worth it.”

Trusting in Barry as he always had, Eobard nodded. “I’m just glad you’re well,” he said and rested one of his cool, bare hands atop Barry’s between them, far more intimate than Barry could ever remember him allowing before.

The contact made heat rush to Barry’s cheeks, his heart beating rapidly despite himself, unable to deny the pull Eobard had always had on him. “I-I’m glad you’re well too,” he stammered.

Their eyes met, and in the firelight with so much darkness around them, Eobard’s face and golden hair looked almost… white.

He pulled his hand from Barry’s and stood, like he hadn’t meant to be so uncouth. “Sleep, my prince,” he said, leaving Barry with guilt stirring unbidden in his stomach. “If we ride hard tomorrow, we’ll reach Emerald before nightfall.”

XXXXX

A knock drew Len’s attention from where he leaned against his desk, staring at where his bed had once been. Even a few days ago, with the sun set, he would have yelled at whoever dared disturb him.

Now… nothing seemed to matter.

He opened the door without hesitation. “Yes?”

“Lenny!” Lisa exclaimed, standing on the other side of the door with an expression of shock, carrying two brightly colored doublets over her arm. “I didn’t think you’d actually… oh, _Len_.” She dove forward, throwing her free arm around his neck to pull him close.

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was with her long locks of brunette waves, and the feel of her was such a different comfort than Barry’s embrace.

He’d missed it.

Tears filled Lisa’s eyes that she wiped away, but then she returned her hand to the back of his neck and hugged him again, before moving her palm to his scarred cheek. “You never needed to hide this from us, from me.”

“You all have enough reminders of what I did to us.” Len’s voice came out hoarse from disuse the past few days. He hadn’t realized how much more talking he’d been doing with Barry around.

His sister’s eyes, blue like his own, held only sympathy and love. “Will you never believe the fault was not yours alone?”

“Not likely,” he tried to say with some levity, twitching a grin at her.

She laughed miserably and swatted his chest. “Not funny. But, if I’m allowed to have a true audience with my big brother at last, then even better than dropping this off at your door, I insist you try it on for me.”

“Try it on?” Len frowned as she breezed past him into the chambers. He shut the door and watched as she laid the doublets on his desk.

Len recognized them now—or the fabric and thread they’d once been when Barry asked his opinion on their stitching. One was emerald green with yellow-gold, the other sapphire blue with white.

“The green one’s Barry’s, obviously,” Lisa said. “He didn't get to finish it himself, so I did it for him. I thought it would be a nice gift for when he returns.”

“Lisa...”

“The blue is yours.” She turned back with a haughty smile that allowed no reproach. “He made sure to finish that one first but didn't want to give it to you until his was also done. I'm sure he won’t mind me giving it to you early if you wear it when he comes through those gates again.

“Now, let me see how it looks on you.”

The certainty in her words left Len too broken-hearted to refuse. “Allow me to change into something that will match better at least.” He rarely took much stock in what he wore, only bothering with clothes because he felt wrong without them while human at night—when he wasn’t in bed with Barry.

After selecting a white shirt, black trousers, and his nicest pair of black leather boots, Len returned, allowing Lisa to help him tie up the doublet. For a prince, Barry was a good tailor, seen in the intricate and even stitch work.

The doublet fit Len well and, after finishing the ties, Lisa stood back to take him in without any sign that his scars or white hair distorted the kingly picture.

“I wish you could see yourself,” she said. “We could always go out to find a mirror.”

“I’m not up for that.” He smiled at her attempt.

“Next time then. Though trust me, it looks wonderful on you. When Barry sees you in it, he won’t be able to contain himself from putting his on too.”

“Lisa…” The ice over Len’s heart was still in place, because he could feel it cracking.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Lisa said, picking up the green doublet and holding it to her chest. “The yellow and white-gold threads. It never would have dawned on me to try such a thing with my touch, but Barry has a marvelous way of seeing beauty in the things we take for granted as terrible.”

The tears she’d banished before pricked her eyes again, and Len didn’t stop himself from going to her. It had been too long since he’d held his sister.

She sniffled against his chest with the second doublet crushed between them. “He will be back, you’ll see,” she said, even as her tears fell.

“Cisco said, did he?”

“He said… there are different paths, and he doesn’t know which will come true, but each one leads to Barry being back here, however else it all ends.”

_However else…_

“I hope, dear sister,” Len said as he hugged her, “that if Cisco is right, it is a happy reunion.”

But that would never be the ending Len expected.

XXXXX

Barry couldn’t help it; as soon as Eobard’s horse reached the castle grounds, he leapt from the saddle and took off running for his father’s chambers. Everyone parted before him, some whispering loudly about the return of the prince, but nothing mattered other than reaching Henry.

Barry burst into the room, unhindered by any guards, to find several physicians, including Master Wells, at Henry’s bedside. He dismissed them all and raced to his father’s side, falling at the edge of the bed and taking his father’s hand.

“Barry…?” Henry croaked, a shadow of his former self, pale and gaunt and clammy, in only a dressing gown beneath the damp sheets from what must have been a constant shift between chills and awful sweats.

“I’m here. I am sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I had to go.”

“Go…? Where? Did the Ice King truly take you?”

“No. I was there, in the Frozen Kingdom, I went to find Cisco, but I was treated well, shown kindness, and asked to stay to better understand that place and end all this nonsense of offerings and fear over magic. I’ve learned so much, father. Please, let me explain. I may yet be able to save you.”

He told his father everything—about the castle’s curse, the people, the wonder of magic that wasn’t a curse at all—and eventually, he explained the hardest part of all, that he had fallen in love with the Ice King and had always longed for male company over a future queen.

His father seemed surprised but not troubled.

“I should have known… Your mother never—”

“I know.” She had never condemned those who loved the same sex. She’d followed the old ways but hated them and might have changed them if she’d lived. “I still didn’t think I could tell you. I feared I’d marry and live a hollow shell of a life as king. But if I can break the curse, show everyone here that magic is not all dark and sinister, perhaps I can change more than I once feared. First, I am going to work on the potion to save you.”

“Barry…” Henry clung to his hand before he could rise. “There may not be time. If I pass… you will be king, with or without a queen.”

“I know. And I will accept my responsibilities, but I also have a responsibility to our neighbors, to our people shunned and wrongly called witch or banished, and to my love and all the friends I made. Don’t think too terribly of me for being selfish that I want a love as potent as what you had with Mother.”

“Never,” Henry said with a weak but caring smile, his hand barely able to squeeze Barry’s, as his other quivered to reach for Barry’s face. “I was a coward. I fought for nothing but the voices of the loudest… forgetting that those without a voice need their king too.

“You will be a better ruler than I ever was, no matter who is by your side or how you fight for what you believe in. Now that you are home, I can rest easy.”

“Rest and get well. Don’t think you can leave this all to me just yet.” Barry smiled and kissed his father’s forehead to leave him be, allowing the physicians back into the room.

His destination now was the alchemist tower.

XXXXX

Lisa left, but Len still wore the blue doublet. He held Barry’s emerald one in his lap, seated at his desk, wondering at all the different ways Barry might return.

To say goodbye.

To start a war.

To be a new sacrifice if his father and kingdom shunned him.

Perhaps that could be a good ending, and the two of them could shutter away here forever. Len didn’t need the curse broken, if he could have Barry with him…

But the knights in _Pillars of Virtue_ didn’t find their way to each other, and those knights, in that fairytale, were righteous men. Len had never been that and didn’t deserve a happy end.

He didn’t think so much as let his feet carry him from his chambers like he’d let them carry him to Lisa to hold her. Slipping into the tunnels, he kept his steps quiet and his ears alert for anyone he might encounter but came across no one and snuck into Barry’s room without trouble.

Once there, he placed Barry’s doublet on the bed, and then walked to the bathing area, where a mirror hung over the wash basin. He hadn’t looked in it when he was last there. As much as he’d forgotten Lisa’s beauty, he hardly remembered his own face, but something pulled him forward to see.

The sight… was not what he expected.

His hair was fairly neat, long as it had grown, white and stark against his tan skin. The scars were many, but his eyes burned bright, and wearing the doublet Barry had made for him, Len felt a little like a king. All he needed was a crown.

He didn’t remember where that had ended up either. The only crown he was used to was the one made of ice—that he’d earned.

“I don’t know why you would ever wish to come back to me,” Len said to his reflection, trying to imagine Barry’s face instead of his own, “but if you do, if you’d still have me, I will never let you go again.”

There was no Barry to answer him, and with the quiet came sorrow deeper than any before.

Len hung the doublet in the wardrobe, so he could lay upon the bed and breathe in Barry’s fading scent, until the hour grew late.

XXXXX

Barry’s vision was swimming, but he had to find the answer.

“My prince, please,” Master Wells implored him. Barry had sent him and the others out of the tower time and time again, but they kept trying to talk sense into him.

He didn’t need sense; he needed the missing ingredient or alchemical property that finally made the right potion.

“Perhaps, I can help you—”

“I don’t have time to explain all the experiments before now!” Barry snapped, taking Cisco’s notes that he’d memorized by now and pushing the parchment at Wells. “If you want to help, then study that, but leave me be while you do.”

“This is Cisco’s handwriting…”

“It is.” Barry didn’t spare a look at Wells but heard the man’s quiet sigh and the soft crinkle of paper, as he went away with it, finally leaving Barry be.

Barry had tried several more experiments, but he feared he was going in circles.

“My prince,” Eobard’s voice interrupted him next, and when he looked over, he thought the candles had burned down much lower, and he couldn’t be sure how long it had been since Wells left.

“I don’t have time to stop—”

“It’s nearly _dawn_ ,” Eobard said firmly. “If you don’t rest and take care of yourself, you’ll be of no use to anyone, least of all your father. Now, eat something.” He set a plate of bread, meat, and cheese on the table where Barry was working, as insistent as he’d been when Barry was a boy, lost in studies or a good book. “Then please, you must rest.”

Barry turned, slumping back against the table, and in that moment with his eyes finally away from the vials and flames and components he’d been testing, they felt as heavy as though literal weights clung to them, and his stomach rumbled from the smells on the plate. “I… I know you’re right, but I feel like I’m so close, and there’s no telling how much time my father has left.”

“He has more than hours,” Eobard assured him. “Eat. Rest. Your work will still be here when you wake.” He pushed the plate closer to Barry, expression stern until Barry acquiesced to snag a piece of meat. Then Eobard leaned back against the table too, casting a curious glance at the mess Barry had made. “And what is your work, exactly? Master Wells and the physicians _have_ been searching for a cure.”

“I know, but they don’t know what I do.”

“Which is?”

“Finding a cure requires finding the cause.”

“You’re making _poison_?” Eobard stared.

“If it can help save my father, yes.” Barry was ready to argue, quick to anger, given his hunger and fatigue, but Eobard merely smiled.

“It’s a wonder anyone ever managed to tell you what to do. You are tenacious, my prince, but you will rest, even if I have to haul you to your bedchambers myself.”

Before his time at the Frozen Kingdom, hearing Eobard say that, however jokingly, would have made Barry feel…

_Still_ made Barry feel a warm stirring in his gut.

“Wh-what about you?” he blurted to change the subject. “You haven’t slept either!”

“I’ll sleep when you do, which means if you do not wish to be cruel to your old teacher, you should show me mercy.” Eobard smiled, something so rare when he was usually so serious, and that made him look even more dazzlingly handsome.

Barry glanced away. He needed to remember his purpose: to save his father, and then to do everything he could to get back to Len and save him too.

“First, I expect you to clean this plate.” Eobard tapped the table.

Barry couldn’t help smiling back at him and began eating with more fervor. He really was hungry, but each bite also made him feel more exhausted. Eobard was right. “I’ll sleep, but only for a few hours. Maybe a break will help the answer come to me. Thank you, Eobard. You really don’t need to babysit me like this though. Surely, there are more important things you could be attending to?”

“Than my prince? Never.” His smile remained, directed solely at Barry.

It made him feel awful that he’d lied to Eobard for so long—and still was. “There’s… something I always wished I could tell you,” Barry said, setting down the last bit of bread. “But… I fear, after you hear it, you’ll wish me exiled.”

“Barry?” Eobard’s smile vanished. “What could possibly make me think that?” 

“I suppose I have to start somewhere, don’t I, if I wish to change things? You see… I love magic. I have none of my own, but I find it beautiful, wonderful, not something anyone should fear.”

“I know,” Eobard said as if it were a trifling confession. “Everyone knows. You were never very good at hiding it. But you are young. You don’t yet understand how dangerous magic is—”

“Anything is dangerous in the wrong hands. My swords,” Barry gestured to his weapons belt on a chair atop his cloak, “alchemy,” he waved at the worktable, and then drew his dagger, “this too. But loving magic isn’t my real secret.”

He set the dagger on the table, fingers gently caressing the jeweled hilt and keeping his eyes there to avoid looking at Eobard. 

“When I was little… _more_ than when I was little… I never longed for a queen. I longed for the company of others like me. Boys. _Men_. For a long time, I…” He clenched his eyes shut. “I longed for you.”

The silence that descended made it impossible to open his eyes, but it wasn’t a harsh word or touch that roused him.

Eobard’s fingers, cool on his chin, tilted his face toward him. Barry gasped and had to open his eyes then, surprised and unsure what to do at finding _want_ in Eobard’s expression.

“Barry… I knew that too,” he said and pulled Barry into a kiss.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have faith!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! I've been busy with a book release, and another book's edits. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Eobard was kissing him.

Eobard was kissing him!

It was like all Barry’s adolescent fantasies come true…

But _no_ —this couldn’t be real! Eobard was the one who found the city’s deviants, who locked them away or made sure they were banished.

“Stop!” Tearing his lips away, Barry pushed at Eobard’s chest. “I-I… I’m imagining this or… or I’ve fallen asleep!”

“No, my prince,” Eobard whispered, so close despite Barry’s wriggling, still holding his chin and smiling. “You are very much awake and seeing nothing but the truth.” He tried to kiss Barry again.

“It’s against the law!” Barry sputtered, shaking Eobard’s fingers from his face. “I’ve watched you cart people away who were caught with another as we just were.”

“I know,” Eobard said with pain in his expression, relenting finally and pulling back. “I’m a hypocrite. I would never, ever have acted if you hadn’t confessed first. Your father, in his fevered state, missing you so deeply, had begun saying things similar to what your mother once wanted, to do away with the old customs. I know that’s what you want too, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Barry said softly.

“Then know this, my future king,” Eobard lifted his hand slowly, allowing Barry to deny him if he so wanted, but when those cool fingers touched Barry’s chin again, he stayed frozen within their grasp, “I will not condemn you if you do not condemn me.”

It was everything Barry had ever wanted. “Never,” he said and had his breath stolen when Eobard renewed their kiss with an eager lunge.

Passion was easy to feel springing to life inside Barry with the tightening of Eobard’s grip, his other arm looping around Barry’s waist to hold him close, and his tongue boldly seeking Barry’s own. The worktable they leaned against shook from Barry sagging more weight against it, and he heard the vials he’d been working with clink in their holders.

He’d only ever known one other man’s mouth and tender touch, and this felt… different.

Eobard’s hand at his back tugging his shirt from his trousers, his whole body encompassing Barry’s as he kissed him deeper, felt different too.

It felt… _wrong_ , with a twist of shame in Barry’s gut.

He’d wanted this—once—and Eobard’s face had looked so white last night. Maybe _sea of white_ meant that. The vision could mean Eobard instead of…

_Len._

That same shame tightened in Barry’s stomach like a punch. The vision _could_ mean Eobard. It could mean anyone. But that was when Barry realized the truth, as his stomach bottomed out at the mere thought of his love being anyone else.

Because, deep down, the vision didn’t matter anymore. All he cared about was how he felt, and _he loved Len_.

“I can’t.” Barry tore away once more, more harshly and certain in his dissent.

“You can—” Eobard kept hold of him.

“No. I can’t.” Even held tight in Eobard’s embrace, a place Barry had once longed to be, he pulled his head out of reach. “Not because I think it’s wrong. I don’t. I never did. And please, please forgive me, Eobard, but… I love the king.”

Eobard stared, not seeming to understand, but then he reared back and gaped. “The _Ice King_? You love a monstrous, ugly troll?”

“He’s not always like that!” Barry defended. “And that’s not what matters. He isn’t ugly to me. I loved him before I knew how handsome he is at nightfall. He’s scarred and lonely and sad, but he’s also kind and witty and wonderful. He is my love, Eobard. I… I’m sorry.”

Eobard drew back, the hand that had held Barry’s face so sweetly falling to the table, though his other remained loose around Barry’s waist. “I never expected this. No matter though.”

Barry meant to apologize again, but his words caught in his throat as he wondered—how did Eobard know what the Ice King looked like? There were stories, but no one had ever seen—

“I only thought to do something nice for you before the end.”

“Wha—” The pain was so abrupt and cloying, Barry’s mouth fell open in a silent scream.

“Shhh…”

Eobard’s hand on the table had claimed the dagger and stabbed it into Barry’s heart.

“I know it hurts,” he used his grip to twist the dagger hard, springing tears to Barry’s eyes, “but it won’t kill you. Yet. This dagger is special. It will keep you very much alive, until I’m ready to use you.”

Barry could only stare, and within Eobard’s clear blue eyes, a darkness seemed to swirl, cold and terrifying like he’d never seen in him before.

“Let the magic take hold,” Eobard whispered, hefting Barry from the table, kicking his sword belt from the nearby chair, and setting him down upon his crumpled cloak. “If you do try to remove it, rest assured, you will bleed out and die in even more agony than you’re feeling now. If you want your suffering lessened, then don’t fight.”

Moving back to the worktable, Eobard left Barry as a splayed heap, frozen from the pain, arms dangling at his sides, as the dagger he’d loved with such naivety stuck out of his chest. Eobard, meanwhile, acted completely unfazed, not only from having been in a heated embrace with Barry moments before, but from stabbing him with his own gift.

He didn’t even look at Barry as he continued.

“You’ll be able to move in time, but every step will be excruciating, so I don’t recommend it. That’s why I told you to keep that dagger close. I never knew when the time would be right after you came of age. That time is now.” Eobard lifted one of the vials to inspect and glanced at Barry finally with a wicked smile. “You’re quite close. You knew to test transmutation. Impressive. Would you like a hint?”

The slow advance of Eobard back to Barry churned his stomach more than any pain in his chest, remembering that he’d kissed him… and loved him, even if it wasn’t the same love he had for Len.

“The correct answer was transmutation into fire, which you would have realized eventually, but what makes any trace of this deadly poison vanish after the person dies is… well, I guess you’ll never know.”

The tears in Barry’s eyes were from far more than pain, as Eobard dared to stroke his cheek before returning the vial to the table. “Wh-why…?” Barry croaked. This man had heard every plea he ever made to his father, begging for magic to not be blamed for his mother’s death, and internally, he must have grinned all the while.

“Your mother wanted to change things,” Eobard leaned against the worktable, as casually as if they were still talking civilly, “but I wasn’t ready then. I needed the condemnation of people with magic and the yearly sacrifices in order to quietly siphon their power without anyone caring what happened to them.”

“For magic…?”

“I was born without any, like you. That wouldn’t do, not if I wanted to live forever. When I was younger, centuries ago, I went to the Fairy Queen and pleaded to be given eternal life. She said I was welcome to stay in her lands, and that, there, I would never age. But then I would have had to _stay in her lands_ , giving up my freedom. I wanted immortality I could take with me, and she could grant me that, but she refused.

“I knew there were other ways to get what I desired. Alchemy is so useful for doing what magic can’t.” He turned his sly smile to the worktable. “I started siphoning power from others to add to my life. But killing and having people constantly going missing gets tricky. The first spell I learned after I drained the magic from a young elf was how to change my face.”

A ripple came over Eobard’s features, and he was one of the guards, then a wizened merchant Barry remembered from the square, then the tavern innkeeper, then Barry’s own father, before he returned to the handsome blond Barry couldn’t even say was his original face.

“Start a war here, point fingers there, and everyone turns on each other. It was easy to twist people against magic and those who wielded it. And once those unfortunate souls were in prison, they’d die so easily, I’m afraid, and no one suspected it was because I was sucking the magic from their bodies.

“I couldn’t have your mother interrupting that, or your father in his grief over your disappearance when I was so close to finally being done with all this. You thought you fooled me when you replaced the sacrifice? I knew. You’ve made this all so much easier, because you’ve helped set the stage. Those sacrifices are my true purpose. They’ve been getting fat on the power of their cursed land, enough now that it is time to cull it. Through you.”

“…what?” The limpness in Barry’s body started to fade, allowing him to lift his hands into his lap instead of dangling. Even moving that much made him ache with a pulse of the dark magic working within him.

Eobard tilted his head, like every cringe of Barry’s was amusing. “The Fairy Queen never paid much mind to the distant Emerald lands compared to the Sapphire Kingdom so much closer to her own. She had no idea what I was doing, but I was always watching her. When she cast her curse, I made my move. I had enough power to lock her away—not to fight her, no, I couldn’t risk that—but I could keep her from interfering and force her to watch.

“Then all I had to do was keep the status quo, fed from the sacrifices ever since the first, when I chased a drunken nobleman’s son to the Ice King’s door.”

_Oliver._

“I merely needed to wait for all that power and immortality to reach its pinnacle and for the right vessel to filter it into me. Only someone completely without magic will do. Do you know how rare that is? The people trick themselves into believing magic is gone, but it is never gone. You and I are the rare ones, Barry.

“But I also needed it to be you, the Emerald Prince, so that when the people see you destroyed by magic after being corrupted by the Ice King, they’ll embrace me as their new ruler without question.”

“ _You_ —”

“Shhh,” Eobard shushed Barry again, pushing from the table to saunter toward him. “You’re staying here, I’m afraid. The dagger will do its job no matter the distance. When it’s over, there will be no dagger or wound remaining, only evidence that you died from magic like your parents. All I need now is to pass the Ice King’s gates and complete a simple incantation, and it will begin.

“I’ll bring the whole army this time, so that when I—pure of heart, as they’ll believe—breach the castle, and all its inhabitants fall dead at my feet, I’ll be lauded as a hero. I’ll honor you though, Barry, I promise. After this, the laws can finally be changed.” He bent over Barry, crowding close, so that Barry knew long before his lips descended what cruelty he meant to inflict.

He kissed him, and Barry fought through the pain to turn his head away.

“Don’t… touch me.”

“So unkind?” Eobard breathed upon his cheek. “I’m going to let you say goodbye to your father. You should be grateful.” He hooked one arm around Barry’s shoulders and the other beneath his knees to lift him. The jostling filled Barry with so much pain, he gasped, especially when Eobard draped his cloak across the dagger to hide it. “You know, I only made them hate magic. Their hatred for _you_ , simply because you long for another man’s touch, that they learned on their own.

“I never could have predicted you’d fall in love with that beast though,” he said as he headed for the door, leaving Barry’s careful work on the table, unfinished. “The Fairy Queen made such a mess of him, but I bet she would have shown mercy by now if she wasn’t imprisoned in her valley.”

Every step Eobard took to leave the tower filled Barry with more shooting pains throughout his chest and limbs and _everywhere_. It was becoming too much to bear, and he was so tired. He could feel his head swimming with the urge to sleep, his vision dimming.

“Now, as far as anyone knows, I am carrying you to bed, and I will tell them that you’d like to stay in your father’s room and not be disturbed by anyone no matter how many days pass. Don’t fight, Barry. I’ve already won.”

Barry could barely move, as Eobard slipped out the door with him, let alone call to any guards. Darkness was taking him swiftly, and he almost longed for it if only to be free for a few brief moments from the pain—in his body and his heart.

He’d doomed everyone in the Frozen Kingdom, thinking he could somehow be their salvation, and his own kingdom was doomed now too, for he was going to be caged with his father, the both of them left to die by the hand of a friend…

XXXXX

Len had returned to his chambers before sunrise, but now, he left for his throne room like any other morning, surprised to find that he was not alone.

“Cisco,” he rumbled at the diminutive man, who stood ringing his hands in front of the throne. “What do you seek of me at such an early hour?”

“I’m sorry, majesty.” Cisco bowed. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept. “Terrible dreams kept me awake concerning my last vision.”

“Oliver said the Emerald Prince left with his soldiers to prevent it, your vision of a war.”

“Of worse than war—our destruction. Barry thought he could fix things by leaving, but he’d be home by now, safe in the Emerald Kingdom to see his father, and my vision hasn’t changed.”

Len didn’t truly believe Barry would return at the head of his own armies, leading a war himself, but he had to wonder—who else might they have to fear from that kingdom?

“Tell me what you’ve seen.” Len took his throne with a creak of the ice that made up his long limbs. “Tell me exactly.”

XXXXX

Barry roused, wishing it all had been a dream, but when he tried to move, the searing pain through his chest proved how real the torture was. He’d fallen asleep, overtired and aching, but that didn’t change the truth.

Eobard was a traitor. He’d killed Barry’s mother, Caitlin’s husband, and was trying to kill Henry, and Barry was helpless to stand against him. His old mentor was readying Emerald’s armies that very moment to leave for Len’s kingdom.

As Barry painstakingly moved his head to take in his surroundings, he saw that Eobard had laid him on the lounging couch in his father’s room. He could see him upon the bed, frowning within what looked to be a fitful sleep. At least Eobard hadn’t lied about that much; he had brought Barry to say goodbye.

But Barry couldn’t accept this literally lying down. He couldn’t say goodbye from so far away. No matter how much it pained him, he had to make it as far as the bed.

“Ah!” Trying to sit up resulted in him immediately falling back onto the cushions. Eobard hadn’t lied about that either, that moving would be excruciating, as if, from the point of entry of the dagger’s blade, Barry’s own blood had turned against him and seared him from the inside out.

It wouldn’t kill him though, and if pain was all he had to fear, he had to face it.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Barry broke off his howl through clenched teeth. He’d call for the guards, but voices didn’t carry well through these walls, and he didn’t know if he could trust anyone.

Lurching up into a sitting position took much out of him, but he eventually got up, and moved with tears in his eyes the entire way, until he collapsed at his father’s side upon the bed.

“F-father…?”

Henry did indeed appear to be in a fever dream, looking far worse than Barry had seen earlier. The right transmutation for their final version of the potion was fire. Barry would have come to that conclusion himself, but what made it undetectable? Conflicting transmutation would simply cause the potion to evaporate right away, which wouldn’t give it enough time to have any effect.

_Sea of white._

Sea of white…

Wraith’s teeth!

_Ice._

“Of course…” Barry said, taking his father’s clammy hand in his own, much as that movement and any utterance of words made him wince.

Other opposing elements would have a similar effect, but only ice could work latently, melting over time. Once everything mixed in the victim’s bloodstream, it would eventually cancel out and vanish like vapor. In Henry’s case, Eobard must have been poisoning him slowly, with very little of the potion each time, to hide his tracks.

There was a cup beside Henry’s bed, and Barry knocked it to the floor with a pained cry. Eobard might have poured more down Henry’s throat before he left. Barry’s father may only have hours. Minutes. And now, Barry knew how to save him but had no way to make the cure.

Eobard must have enchanted the Fairy Queen to not speak of what kept her and her people behind a veil, but she’d tried to say all she could. She’d told Barry to trust… something. Obviously not Eobard.

To trust something that Len hadn’t…

 _Himself_.

Barry had to trust in himself as future king. Eobard didn’t think he could handle so much pain to be a threat, and oh, it did hurt, but he had to act. He had to. He had to save his father and hurry on to save Len.

Rising with a whimper, he looked to where Master Wells and the physicians had been trying out possible cures. A handful of healing potion variants and herbs lay on a table. It wasn’t enough to make the potion Barry needed or the subsequent cure, but it might be enough for something else.

Looking to his father once more, Barry forced quiet words to pass his lips. “I love you… and I will defeat our enemy.”

XXXXX

Len had gathered his court in the throne room, as well as his best advisors, which included most of those who’d been closest with Barry—Cisco, Caitlin, Axel, Shawna, and Oliver.

There was little time, and the humans in their midst shivered to be so near Len without having taken resistance draughts—save Caitlin, who was her own type of ice creature.

“None of us believe the Emerald Prince would betray us, but we know a traitor lives in his kingdom,” Len declared. “Many of you have worked on the potion to prove it. If his presence returning home has not changed Cisco’s vision of a dire future, then that means Barry is the one who has been betrayed. We must expect an army and a battle ahead that we might not win.”

“What should we do?” Lisa asked, golden before Len, and while she was always lovely, he kept picturing her true form now that he’d finally had the honor of seeing again.

He longed for her to be like that always. His friends too.

“Everything we can,” he said. “Prepare the people. Fortify the castle. Have lookouts at all times and keep our fortune teller on hand as much as he can be to keep telling fortunes.” Len looked to Cisco with reverent respect, who tensed nervously but nodded. “If the future begins to change, we must know immediately. Plan, execute on that plan as best we can, but expect that all will not go our way. If we must, we must find a path to survival against whatever odds we may face.”

Len’s friends, his advisors, the most trusted among his people, cursed court or otherwise, spanning decades and centuries, all stood tall, bolstered and resolute.

“Whatever is happening with Barry,” Len concluded, “death makes for our door.”

“If they’re turning right around with reinforcements,” Oliver said, “we can expect Emerald forces within two days.”

Not everyone in the room was a fighter, but each person’s expression hardened, as Len gave the final order. “Then be ready.”

XXXXX

Barry burst out of his father’s room, and the pain was so blinding, he feared he would collapse, but he refused to lose faith.

“My prince!” a guard cried, taking hold of him. “What have you done?!”

As if he had stuck the dagger into his own chest. Barry was right to assume he had no allies.

“General Eobard warned you were unstable,” another said.

“But to stab yourself—”

“No time!” Barry screamed as he threw them from him, simultaneously hurling a concoction to the floor that burst with a cloud of thick smoke.

The guards scattered, and Barry pushed onward. It caused more pain than he had ever known, but he knew this castle better than any guard. He could get to the alchemist tower blindfolded; through smoke was easy.

The physicians had been sent away, not a soul left in the tower when Barry reached it—but his work was gone too! Eobard must have returned and destroyed it all.

“No…” Barry lamented, resting against the worktable with a suffering sag. There were barely any ingredients around to be of any use. He needed alchemist supplies. He needed…

Master Wells’ shop—the shop Cisco had once apprenticed at, and that Barry had spent so many hours at too. It wasn’t far from the castle, but the journey would still be arduous. Royal tunnels led from the palace, like the secret tunnels in Len’s castle, and could bring Barry close, barely forcing him onto the streets, but he had to hurry and be discreet. Eobard could have the whole kingdom against him.

Every step was agony and covering himself with his cloak to hide the dagger put stinging weight on it, but he persisted, vision swimming all the while, until he met the cold air of the brisk winter morning. It was _morning_ , but it was late. Eobard might have already left.

Hurtling himself onward, Barry snuck around everyone he could, hoping that those who spotted him didn’t recognize who he was in such a rumpled state.

He found the shop blessedly open and, once inside, raced to find everything he needed. He knew his way around this place almost as well as the castle, and soon had the poison simmering, adding in Wraith’s Teeth that immediately began to melt.

Before the ice was gone, Barry had to transmute the entire potion once more in order to create a proper antidote. With such singular focus, the pain that lingered was not nearly as important as his goal. He couldn’t be certain how much time passed before it was all complete, but with a triumphant puff of smoke rising from the vial, he knew when he’d succeeded.

“ _Yes_.”

“What are you doing!?”

Barry spun, cringing at not having taken the movement slowly. It was Wells, standing in the entrance to the laboratory with wide, accusing eyes. “Please… I had to—”

“The general said you were bewitched.” Wells backed away. “The Ice King controls your actions and would have you poison us all…”

“ _No_ , I—”

Barry fell forward at moving without thinking, the cloak already loosed from so much shuffling, finally unwinding from his shoulders and falling open.

Wells gaped—and turned to run.

“No!” Barry snatched the antidote and sprinted after him, gritting his teeth as the pain renewed tenfold. “Please! It’s for my father!” He ran, but the pain spiked so terribly, he stumbled over the unwound cloak and crashed to his knees, barely keeping the antidote from crashing to the floor with him.

Pained breaths kept Barry from passing out, but he saw the darkness encroaching.

“Eobard… did this to me… _please_ … believe me…” As he pitched forward, a sudden firm pair of hands grabbed hold of him.

“He said not to trust you, but the king is already dying. That can cure him?”

“Yes…” Barry looked up, still swaying within Wells’ hold. He was a good man, always had been, if somewhat stern. Now, he looked uncertain but filled with the shadow of regret. “Whatever else you believe… please make sure he gets this. I must stop Eobard from—”

“He’s gone. I saw him at the gates.”

“Then I will give chase. But promise me…” Barry thrust the vial toward Wells with a shaky hand. “If something happens to it… use Cisco’s notes, transmuted into fire, then add Wraith’s Teeth. Before the ice melts, transmute it again.”

“Cisco’s notes…?” Wells repeated, accepting the vial with deeper remorse. “He’s safe then… at that castle?”

“He is. You owe him for not speaking up when he was taken… happy though he may be, and he _is_ happy. If you don’t trust me… trust him.”

Wells gave a solemn nod and helped Barry to his feet. “I will,” he said and seemed as though he might try to pull the dagger from Barry’s chest.

“You can’t…” Barry pulled away from him and moved to the door. “But I swear my mind is my own. Thank you,” he swore, before pushing onward to hurry outside.

A solid body stood in his path that he crashed into and nearly ended up on his knees again.

“Highness!” the guard cried, seizing his shoulders.

Barry had to keep him away from Wells, or risk the cure never reaching his father. “I… I must see Eobard!”

“He’s left to slay the Ice King in time to free you and your father,” the guard said, eyes widening at the sight of the dagger’s hilt. “It’s true… Please, highness, you must—”

“No!” Barry fought to shake him away, but his vision spun again, everything around him a bright blur in the morning light—or perhaps that was the many colors of the crowd beginning to gather. “He’s lied to you!”

“You’re delirious—”

“I’m not!” Barry fought that much harder, but realized quickly how futile it was, because he looked every bit the madman, and struggling only made him weaker and the pain that much worse. “I… I must reach the square. Let me tell the people what is happening. Then… then you can take me to wherever Eobard told you.”

Through Barry’s hazy vision, the guard looked sympathetic, as loyal as any could be after whatever lies Eobard told him. “I suppose it can’t hurt to let you speak, but… the state of you—”

“I’ll manage,” Barry said, allowing the guard to loop an arm around his waist and carry him toward the center of the city.

It was only him, that single guard, who’d happened to be at Wells’ door when Barry exited. The small crowd that had gathered at their exchange gasped and whispered, but whatever they thought the dagger in their prince’s chest meant, they followed with eager interest to learn more.

Allowing only a furtive glance back, Barry saw Wells slip out of the shop and head for the castle entrance. That was one burden lifted, even if Barry failed the rest.

Other guards they came across went silent at the sight of him. There weren’t many. Eobard likely had most of them with him as part of the legions headed to conquer the Frozen Kingdom.

Word spread of the wild, wounded prince before they reached their destination, and by the time the guard brought Barry to the center of the square and up the merchant platform, the streets were crowded, and the din of voices hushed.

“Your prince is not dying!” Barry called, weak but forcing each word to be as loud as he could. “Whatever you’ve heard, this dagger _is_ enchanted, and it will kill me, but not from the wound. And it is not the Ice King who wielded it.

“General Eobard betrays us. The villain is him, not me, and not our neighbors. He wielded this magic and means to take more from the Frozen… from the _Sapphire_ Kingdom to the north. Yes, that is where I’ve been these many weeks, but I am not bewitched. I have seen our loved ones that were cast so cruelly there, and for what? Magic? Destitution? Love for another that does not fit the molds of the many?

“If you need to steal to survive, then you have not failed your kingdom. Your kingdom failed you! And who someone loves or what power resides within them, however frightening it may seem, is not worth condemning. I… I have no magic, but…” Barry closed his eyes to take a breath and steal his nerves to finish this, though it was not the same as admitting his deepest secret to a kinder kingdom weeks before. “Should I be your king someday, I would stand before you with a prince or other king at my side, not a queen.”

“Deviant!” a voice said in alarm, and when Barry opened his eyes to look, he could not say who had cried it, for many more rose up to call similarly punishing things.

“He’s corrupt!”

“Cursed!”

“The Ice King controls him!”

“ _No_ ,” Barry snarled, lurching forward from the guard who held him and nearly toppling right off the platform. “No… I am no more worthy of vile words or banishment than any other! And I know I’m not alone. Not only in my passions, but magic exists among us as prevalent as in any age before.”

He said it without thinking but knew it to be true as soon as the words left him.

“Eobard uses magic in the despicable way you fear, but he did speak one truth before he plunged this dagger into my chest. He said I was the rare one, having no magic at all, which means far more of you than those put in chains or sent from our kingdom as exiles and sacrifices have magic within you, right here amongst us.”

That stirred the crowd to cast their accusations on each other, but it was not chaos Barry sought.

“Do you wish to hide? To pretend forever? To wait for Eobard to return victorious, claim the throne, and continue to pick you all off? If you have elvish blood or some hidden ability you think dooms you, know that neither I nor my father will ever send anyone to the dungeons for such things again.

“Speak! Show yourselves! Please… And we can be a larger army than those who call us corrupt. If you don’t… then I have no one to help me stop Eobard, and when he destroys our neighbors, he’ll destroy us too.”

Barry sank down on weak legs, but the guard was there to catch him. Expecting a few more vaulted insults, Barry was surprised to hear only silence, eerie within the square when it was usually so bustling.

Perhaps silence was worse...

“I have magic,” the guard blurted.

Barry tilted his head up at him, and the guard shucked the helmet from his head, revealing a handsome elf as the mirage lifted from his ears, rippling like the veil of the Mystic Valley, to show how they were pointed.

“My whole family are elves, taught to hide it until a time when the ruling family would learn sense. I’m... also in love with a fellow guard.”

Barry laughed. He didn’t mean to, but he’d never expected—

“Me too!” someone called. “Well… not the guard part, but I’m half-elf! Most my family is at least a quarter!”

“I see spirits!”

“I can transmute without alchemy!”

“I want to court the grocer’s daughter!

The chorus grew into such a frenzy, more numerous than the jeers against him, that Barry hardly caught it all, but his smile continued to grow. The racket wasn’t without dissension and wary glances from magicless humans, especially when more and more pointed ears were revealed, but the silent majority wasn’t being so silent anymore.

“Please!” Barry tried to hush them.

“Quiet!” the guard yelled, and the chorus fell to a murmur.

“Master Wells delivers a cure to my father, but the only way to save me and our kingdom is to stop General Eobard. I must give chase. And so I ask you all, as your prince…”

He’d feared for most his life admitting half the truths he’d spouted today, but without anything hidden from his people any longer, he saw most of them looking back at him with pride.

“Who will join me?”

XXXXX

Not aging made it easy to ignore the passage of days, never truly feeling them, but for Len, waiting on his prince, the days since Barry’s departure moved at a crawl.

Cisco’s vision never once changed, save to say that the shadow over Barry seemed darker as the expected time for the prince’s return grew close. Whether that meant good or ill, Cisco didn’t know.

Even so, with the castle fortified and Len’s people as ready as they could be for whatever might be coming, everyone had a remarkable way of staying in good spirits.

It was in realizing that the approaching night might be Len’s last, his final moment to be the man Barry believed him to be, that he asked Lisa to meet him in the passageway behind the great hall after sunset.

“Are you sure of this, Lenny?” she asked, taking his arm. “You haven’t shown any of the others yet. I didn’t tell them you’d shown me. Not even Hartley.”

“You don’t think he knows?” Len grinned, dressed in a simple blue doublet, saving the one crafted by Barry until his prince was at his side again. “If he doesn’t, he’s about to find out, and everyone else with him.”

Together, they entered the hall through the doorway that usually only admitted the court on the first night of a new sacrifice. With stalwart steps, Len walked with his sister to his throne-like seat at the center of the head table, elevated above the others.

The rest of the court was out amongst the people, feasting and drinking as one. As a hush fell over everyone gathered, who must be startled at realizing who stood before them, Len sought out Mick, Mark, and Hartley first.

It was no surprise to find them with their loves—all three at the same table with Widow Caitlin, Shawna, and Axel respectively. Cisco was with them too, though contrary to the surprised gapes they all wore, he was smirking.

“I may have told Cisco though,” Lisa whispered, standing at her chair beside Len.

He shook his head at her, but he was smirking too, because for the first time since they’d been cursed, he stood before his kingdom as himself and didn’t feel the need to hide his face. He wore his scars proudly.

“What are you staring at?” Len called, making sure to maintain a pleasant tone. “Aren’t we here to enjoy dinner and drink, or are you going to gawk all night?” He took his seat, and Lisa took hers as well.

Without being asked, Oliver and his wife rose to fill fresh plates to deliver them, and Len allowed the gesture, since they looked so pleased to offer it.

Cisco came forward too, bringing goblets and a jug of wine.

When Lisa curled a finger at him to join them at the table, Len nodded in agreement, and the young fortuneteller retrieved his plate and wine to sit at Lisa’s other side.

“I think this calls for a toast!” Axel stood, raising his glass, to which everyone followed in kind. “Not for our king’s handsome face, of course, but for whatever tomorrow brings. Here, here!” he cried, and again, everyone echoed him.

“Here, here!”

“Also!” Axel said before the growing mutters could rise to a normal dinner din. He set his goblet side and moved to approach the head table, bringing his hands behind his back where Len couldn’t see, and then bringing them out again with a flourish. “I believe this belongs to you, majesty. No idea how I acquired it.”

Len’s _crown_ —glittering silver with inlaid sapphires.

He hadn’t seen it in decades. He’d grown more used to a crown of ice.

While he was too stunned to move, Lisa rose to take the crown and gently placed it upon Len’s head. It weighed more than he remembered but felt strangely… right.

“What say you, majesty?” Axel bowed as he backed up a pace. “Shall I spin a tale?”

Only one came to mind, since it was the beginning of this adventure and seemed fitting to be part of the end, whatever tomorrow brought. “Let’s hear once more of the fletcher,” Len said, and a cheer rose up like always, with Oliver bowing his head from where he’d reclaimed his seat.

Fitting indeed.

Even more so the next day when it was Oliver, the first sacrifice, who sounded the alarm.

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes tear* This one got me misty several times...

If Barry thought the long journey home from the Frozen Kingdom was more grueling than he’d remembered, than doing the same journey once more with a mystical dagger plunged into his chest, was the worst torture he’d ever known.

The only thing that would be worse was if he failed to catch up to Eobard in time.

He and those who’d chosen to join him couldn’t push onward without resting, however. They camped briefly the first night and were doing so again before the final leg to the castle the following morning. If Barry had calculated correctly, they were set to arrive right on Eobard’s heels. He wished that gave him comfort or eased his pain as he lay down, trying to rest.

This time, he’d asked for space because he hated to see the discomfort on his people’s faces when they looked upon the dagger or saw him cringe. He tried to keep it covered, but anything touching it, even just as his cloak, made the pain worse.

He lay beside a fire with the dagger aimed upward at the open sky. Eating and drinking was a chore as well, but he’d choked down what he could. Now, he longed for his exhaustion to let him sleep, if only for a little while, so he could forget how much his heart hurt—from so many things.

A tear streaked down his cheek after a deep breath.

“Your highness, I fear I know the answer, but I must ask… is there nothing that can be done to ease your suffering?”

Tilting his head, Barry took in the visage of the elven guard who’d helped him, the first to speak up and bolster his fellows to do the same. It did soothe Barry that there were so many. Eobard had taken most of the guards with him, and Barry had had to leave some in Emerald, but his company was still made up of a great multitude, just mostly artisans, shop keeps, and farmers.

Watching them all beyond the elf who stood before him reminded Barry of his first night at Len’s castle. He’d been awed then to see so many elves and half-elves, to see men cuddled close to men, and women holding hands with other women. Now, he was seeing that same miracle in his own people.

He tried to smile at the guard, who was indeed handsome without his helmet, his elven ears still prominent without whatever glamour had hidden them. He was tall and dark and stoic, with a poise to his stance that spoke of the honorable man he was. He’d even fetched Barry’s sword belt from the palace before they gathered at the city gates and left, though Barry doubted he could put his swords to much use in his sorry state.

“I wish I knew,” Barry said. It still hurt to speak, but it didn’t hurt much less to stay silent. He glanced down his body at the dagger, bejeweled and beautiful, a once treasured possession. “Eobard said… I’d die if I tried to remove it. Perhaps… that’s what I should do. If I die, he can’t succeed…”

“Highness…” the guard stepped closer, as if ready to stop him.

Barry didn’t bother lifting a hand to try. “If it comes to that, I might have to… but not yet. I need to reach those gates… to be sure everyone is well.” He clenched his eyes shut and another tear streaked down his cheek.

The guard still hovered when he opened them, looking down in concern.

The guard. The _elf_.

“I don’t know your name,” Barry realized. “I usually remember everyone in the castle. Are you new?”

“I was a city guard until recently,” he said. “Robert, the man I love, is a city guard as well. I feared we were more likely to be caught if we worked too closely together, so I petitioned to serve inside the castle instead. I’ve only been assigned there a week.

“My name is David, highness, house of Singh.” He bowed his head.

“What a week,” Barry remarked. “Your love knows of your feelings and lineage?”

“He does.”

“Is he here?”

A spark of remorse marred David’s strong façade. “I bid him farewell before we left. I begged him to stay behind and keep peace in the city. A few guards had to remain, and I…”

“You worried for him.”

“He’s more suited to be an artisan than a guardsman. He’s human, no magic, but he feared that anything other than picking up a spear would have made it too easy to tell… what he was.”

 _What._ Even now, among friends and knowing that Barry himself had admitted attraction to men, David said it in a hushed voice. “No longer,” Barry said with an aggrieved raise of his head. “I swear.”

The remorse did not flicker. “Maybe I’ve left Rob to a worse fate, if those who still fear us rise up in our absence.”

“My father won’t allow it,” Barry assured him. “He’ll… he’ll be okay. Master Wells saved him, I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so, my prince.” At last, David allowed some of his tension to recede. “Your love is at the Frozen castle?”

Barry had explained as much as he could to those who’d chosen to follow him, about the once formidable Sapphire Kingdom and its curse, but he hadn’t made it public that his love was the Ice King. He feared that might give credence to Eobard’s lies that Len controlled him.

So, he kept his answer brief.

“He is. And I am going to save him. I am going to save all of them.”

“ _We_ are, your highness.” David bowed his head once more and offered a steadfast smile.

Barry nodded gratefully back at him, and David took his leave to let his prince rest.

XXXXX

Len stood on the ramparts, not trying to hide his looming form, with all his court lining the walls with him. Oliver was further down along another ledge to lead his archers, many others standing guard at any potential entrances onto the grounds, prepared to launch a strategic attack and volley magics they usually saved for quiet, domestic use.

Of Len’s subjects, only Cisco stood with him and his court, as they surveyed the approaching army.

Len looked to Cisco then, but he shook his head. His vision hadn’t changed. Eobard led the Emerald soldiers, and Barry wasn’t with them. Still, Cisco’s vision said he would arrive eventually with a shadow hanging over him and his impending fate. All Len could hope to do was hold off the soldiers until that path became clear.

“Hartley,” he said, returning his eyes to the arriving troops, “when the fighting begins, if they be so foolish as to declare war, remind everyone to avoid killing unless they have no alternative. We will use fear more than force and hope they see reason.

“Now, carry my words to their leader.”

“Yes, majesty,” Hartley said.

There was a gentle rush of wind, and Len knew when he spoke his voice would boom forth as if from the gates themselves or a god calling down from the skies.

“You have your prince!” Len declared. “Why do you return?”

The line of horses came to a stop with a simple raise of Eobard’s fist. There was a decent expanse between them and the gate yet, closed tight with its connected wall tall and imposing before them. Like Eobard, everyone at the front wore helmets, though many further back did not, simple city guards brought along to fill their ranks.

Len did not wish them any harm.

Eobard was another matter.

“You cursed our prince!” he replied, loud enough that Len would have heard him, however distantly, even without Hartley magnifying his words. “You cursed our king! We come to avenge them and free them from your power!”

“I have no ability to curse,” Len spat. “I merely bear my own.”

“Lies!” Eobard drew a mighty longsword that glittered in the sun. “We will no longer serve your whims! All magic must be eradicated! Only with the fall of your kingdom can ours be saved!”

A cheer rose up from the soldiers, echoing loudly over the castle exterior with Hartley’s power amplifying their voices. Eobard didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to; he’d clearly bolstered his men by filling their heads with falsehoods, and no one would listen to the words of the damned.

Len wished he knew what had become of Barry, but until that revealed itself, he would defend his people and his home with everything at his disposal.

“So be it,” he said and rose to his full height atop the ramparts. He saw the Emerald soldiers, with and without helmets, falter back at the sight of him. “If you wish to eradicate magic… then feel its wrath.”

“Ready!” Oliver ordered, and as Len gave a nod, he continued, “Aim!” and a row of bows pointed skyward along the wall below the court.

Next to Len, Mick waved a fiery hand toward the archers and set each arrowhead ablaze.

“Fire!” Oliver finished, and the arrows arced like falling stars toward the front line of Eobard’s forces.

The horses reared up, frightened by the glow and whooshing noise, but the arrows struck the ground in a nearly perfect line, not hitting any people or creatures, simply creating a barrier of flames.

One by one, the court rose into the air, soaring downward to the front gate, Hartley to pass on orders, and the others to fight. Mick kept the barrier lit, and Mark fired lighting bolts at the horses’ feet to drive the soldiers back.

The flames and subsequent shocks of lightning were Len’s subjects’ signal to attack.

Atop the gate wall, previously hidden people rose up on their knees, bearing dull, rounded shields that angled above their heads, as Lisa flew by with an elegant touch, alighting the center of each one. The shields caught the sun so unexpectedly with their sudden, golden sheens, that Emerald soldiers and horses alike were blinded, staggering back another meter.

As they stumbled and hesitated but didn’t yet retreat, Len’s own riders appeared atop the few horses they had, led by the young elf Ralph. Behind the cavalry poured their meager but brave infantry, made up of fighters and wielders of magic. Some even ran right through Mick’s fire, having taken protection draughts against it.

A few Emerald soldiers tried to flee the unexpected barrage, those that held steady looking horrified at the elves and humans alike casting spells to transmute swords into planks of wood or put horses into a dead sleep in the snow.

These men knew nothing of real magic, cast as easily as a bard telling a tale. 

“Stay strong!” Eobard’s cried. “Their wickedness cannot stand against our cause!”

Mark shot a strike of lightning at his horse’s feet—but it bounced harmlessly away and fizzled into nothing like hitting an invisible shield.

 _Magic_ , though to the soldiers nearby who witnessed it…

A miracle.

“To me!” Eobard ordered, riding through Len’s ranks like parting reeds, with his soldiers swarming in behind him.

As quickly as spells were cast or elemental magic rained down upon Eobard, it all dispelled and fell away like he was blessed—a dirty, awful hypocrite, but blessed in the eyes of his men. Mick’s fire even snuffed out when he rode through it, and soon, the expanse to the gate was mere meters.

“Now!” Mark ordered from where he floated above the courtyard—above the _trebuchet_ Wynn had constructed.

Mark had told him what compounds to add as ammunition, and Wynn had complied, a full arsenal at their disposal. Axel was there as well, preparing future rounds, as the first flung forward at Mark’s cry, launching what appeared to be a boulder but broke apart like dust, raining colorful speckles upon the approaching army. 

They were too near the gate now, despite those trying to hold them back, and Len watched Mark call down rain with a roll of dark clouds and thunder filling the sky. The second the water hit the dust that had coated them, the Emerald soldiers felt the power of alchemy as much as magic, as the reacting combination turned the dust to sticky sludge.

Soldiers off their horses fell to the ground as if wading through muck, and the horses themselves had it worse, knees buckling and causing them to throw their riders.

As before, only Eobard seemed immune, shielding by magic more powerful than anything Len had ever—

No, _as_ powerful, or at least close to it, as the Fairy Queen herself.

“He’s using magic?!” Cisco darted to the edge of the wall beside Len.

“Yes,” Len growled, stepping onto the ledge to finally leave his perch.

“Wait!” Cisco cried. “What of my vision?!”

“I may not be able to float safely away from those soldiers but _him_ I am not afraid to touch.” Len turned his monstrous maw toward Cisco. “If your vision changes, I’ll learn the truth long before you can warn me.”

With a crunch into the stones of the rampart wall, Len leapt off to begin his descent. It was not within his power to hurl his ice like Mark fired lightning bolts or Mick volleyed fire. He had to touch, and the icy residue his clawed feet left upon the stones began the collection of ice he needed. With a single step off the wall, a ramp was created, sliding him down the length of the castle at speeds that eventually launched him like the trebuchet had launched its weapon.

Len landed with a similar crunch upon the front gate wall far from the line of golden shields, but close enough to where Eobard charged that he dropped right down in front of the gates and bellowed.

“Give room!” Then Len stared Eobard and the other charging horses down as they all stopped short. “Any who dare touch me will earn an icy grave. So please, _accuser_ , let it only be you.”

He could see Eobard’s eyes through his helmet, blue and vibrant like his own.

_Blue eyes in a sea of white…_

“Lenny!” Lisa called from above him.

She could not throw her curse any better than he could and had refused to use her touch as a weapon. She was fearful of what he might do—or what might be done to him—but he could not cow. Around him, and further out in the field beyond their gates, he saw so many good people fighting the army at their doorstep.

Shawna was a wickedly fast fighter with her twin daggers, cutting painful scratches into dozens of soldiers, one after the other, before they could counter, making them hiss and retreat—but not causing fatal harm.

And Caitlin, as an Ice Maiden, could do what Len couldn’t, her eyes glowing blue, dark hair gone white, as she threw icicles from her palms that hit soldiers’ ankles or shoulders, or she’d cover the ground in ice that caused their horses to slip.

Everyone was doing what they could to keep from killing these men.

But no one would mourn Eobard, who or whatever he truly was.

Jumping down from his horse, Eobard dropped his helmet into the snow, a cruel echo of when he’d last been there and embraced Barry in front of those same gates. “You wish to challenge me directly, _Ice King_?” he said, squaring his stance with his longsword pointed forward.

“Gladly,” Len growled and barreled forward with a mighty leap.

The sword struck his icy palm, holding him at bay, but no normal weapon could harm Len, and he gripped it firm as he swiped with his other hand at Eobard’s head.

The ricochet stung more than he could have expected, his arm bouncing to the side, deflected like Mark’s lightning. While Len stared in furious shock, Eobard heaved him away as though fighting with the strength of ten men.

Len leapt at him again with a roar, but while the sword could strike _him_ , whenever he tried to reach any part of Eobard, he was repelled.

He swung and swung and swung at Eobard anyway, battering at him with palms and fists, each successive blow making him grit his teeth at how much it _hurt_.

Try as he might, he couldn’t touch him.

“You see! These demons cannot touch the righteous!” Eobard called—and then grinned, adding quietly for Len’s ears only, “Did you think this would be easy?”

Attacking back at Len with similarly vicious, battering strikes, Eobard hacked and hacked at him to drive Len back. It didn’t hurt the way striking that magical barrier did. It barely chipped away even the tiniest flecks of Len’s ice, but seeing their leader holding his own against the starring villain in their darkest tales, Eobard’s men rallied and began to fight back harder too.

Len couldn’t allow it. He and Eobard weren’t even able to hurt each other, but he was being backed up to the gate. If the courtyard was breeched, there was no telling what Eobard was capable of.

With a mighty stomp at the ground, a burst of ice poured forth from Len, however uncontrollable, enough that Eobard’s footing faltered, and Len was once again able to catch his sword on the following blow. He grabbed it in both hands and held firm, allowing his naturally frosty presence to creep upon its blade.

Eobard’s grin widened as they stared each other down, blue on blue, with barely a hand’s width between their faces. “You only make the tales they’ll sing more epic in my favor. Just like _Barry_.”

Len’s stomach plummeted, whatever remained of it while he was frozen, cold and deep within him.

“Such soft skin and lips, that prince,” Eobard continued in a whisper, no strain on his face or in his arms as he continued to press back at Len. “So easily shaped to my will. I would have been kinder to him if he’d only _bent_ willingly, but he chose to stay loyal to you.”

“What have you done to him?!” Len shouted, the ground all around them now, everything but Eobard, freezing deep into the ground, even turning the snow to mounds of ice.

“He is far, far away,” Eobard’s eyes sparkled with cruelty, “and when I claim your castle, he’ll be dead.” 

Eobard hurled him to the side with such force, Len toppled, collapsing to the ground and leaving the way clear to the gate. Once Eobard reached it in a few short strides, he used his sword like a battering ram and split the doors apart as though a cannonball had struck them.

Len’s subjects along the wall scattered, holding their golden shields up to protect them from splintered wood and twisted metal fastenings. Further above, Len saw Mick and Mark both hurling their fire and lightning again at Eobard to no avail. Even Hartley appeared, trying to blow him over with the force of his wind. Len feared even Lisa would dive down and foolishly try to turn him to gold, but she saw how impossible it was and merely stared in horror.

Lurching back to his feet, Len felt an awful sense of dread watching the slow pace of Eobard moving across the broken threshold into the courtyard, but before he could race after him and pound upon that shield until his arms broke apart in chunks if need be, he heard his name cried out like a scream of agony by a voice he had deeply missed.

“Len!”

XXXXX

Barry’s cloak was wrapped around him as he rode full pelt, ahead of David and the others, toward the ensuing battle.

Every gallop made more tears spring to his eyes and calling to Len with such force had come out more like a howl of pain—because it was one. He couldn’t let his own anguish stop him, however, not when he could see wounded soldiers and friends littering the expanse around him that he knew could so easily become casualties.

“Stop!” he cried, riding past familiar faces on both sides, and in their surprise to see their prince, the soldiers who’d followed Eobard gave way and let him through. “Stop this! Eobard betrays us! These people are not our enemies!”

Many of them dropped their swords and stared, but enough kept fighting that Barry knew he had to reach the gates to end this for good.

Len was there, and Eobard was already moving into the courtyard.

As Barry pushed on, he could see Shawna amid the soldiers, whirling like a graceful dervish with her daggers, Caitlin tripping up horses and men alike as though she too were a born fighter in her true snow maiden form, and the tall, angular elf, Ralph, atop one of the horses, fighting bravely to drive the invaders back.

Subject after subject of the Frozen Kingdom was defending their home, including the female couple Barry remembered best from his first night in the castle, one blond and one dark, working in elegant tandem as lovers should.

Barry wanted that too, to at least reach Len, even if he could barely raise his swords to fight beside him. He was so close but still felt leagues away.

It was at the sound of a wild, hysterical howl that Barry looked up, seeing the court members first, floating above the chaos to rain down their elements or offer support, but then, soaring through the air from beyond the castle walls, came the source of that war cry.

 _Axel_ , flung as if from a catapult—no, a trebuchet, Barry saw through the busted open gates—hurtling into the throng with his own sword and dagger drawn. Barry thought him absolutely mad, coming down far too fast, only to hit a cushion of air and float gently the rest of the way down like the wind had caught him.

The wind had.

 _Hartley_.

Barry watched as Axel joined the others, brought into the battle by his love, who floated with the rest of the court to keep from touching anyone directly.

“Don’t you see? They wish you no harm if you’d only _stop_!” Barry tried once more as he rode that much harder forward, reaching Len at last and sliding so swiftly from his horse that the jostle pitched him to the side, and he nearly fell into the snow.

“Barry!” Len rushed to him, almost forgetting himself and grasping Barry’s shoulders before he stopped.

He couldn’t touch him. If he did, in his frozen state with the sun risen, Barry would turn to ice like the awful garden of evildoers in the courtyard.

The same courtyard where Eobard stood, right where he needed to be upon the cursed grounds, looking back at Barry now with a nasty grin.

“Ahh!” Barry dropped to his knees after all, his cloak falling open to reveal the dagger, glowing and burning inside him with a white-hot pain even worse than before, as Eobard’s lips began to move, speaking his promised incantation.

“Barry!” Len cried again, dropping to his knees in kind to be closer to Barry, so that, with the snow beneath and Len right there in front of Barry, all he saw was white.

_White._

And Len’s beautiful blue eyes.

Barry sobbed—from the pain and so much more.

Far beyond the gates up on the ramparts, he caught a glimmer of Cisco, his friend, looking distraught and trying to call to him over the battle. Barry couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He understood now what the vision meant. He knew what he had to do to save them all, even if _all_ might not mean him.

His friends were all around him, some above, all fighting so hard while trying not to cause harm to their attackers. The fighting seemed to quiet though, and Barry couldn’t be sure if the Emerald soldiers were stopping as he’d asked or if the pain of Eobard speaking his spell was making him deaf and blind to everything but what was right in front of him.

“I… love you,” Barry choked out, trying to memorize Len’s eyes that looked the same whether he was ice or flesh. “ _You_. E-Eobard tried…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Len said. “I love you too, Barry. What has he done to you…?”

“P-promise me.” Barry cringed. The pain was growing so excruciating that he knew his time was short, but he had to ensure that he saved Len and the others like he’d promised.

“Barry, we need to—”

“ _Promise_.”

“I… of course. Anything.” Len’s beast-like face contorted with grief, his hands outstretched and hovering. 

“Forgive… yourself. B-believe you’re… a good… king… and move on.”

“Barry…” Tears tried to form in Len’s eyes, but when they crested his cheeks, they froze. “I showed everyone my face.”

The pain forced Barry forward onto his hands, yet still, he smiled, because hearing that gave him a brief, stuttering beat of peace. “I’m glad… b-but say… you promise.”

He could hear Eobard now, though he didn’t think anyone else could. The voice seemed to come from the dagger, echoing up into his head, words he didn’t understand but that were unmistakably malicious.

More tears spilled onto Len’s cheeks and froze like fissures. “I promise.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Barry gasped, and using the last of his wavering strength, he heaved upward against the pain, reached for Len’s face with both hands, and kissed his icy lips in the same instant.

XXXXX

Len couldn’t express the horror of having Barry _kiss him_ , knowing what would happen.

It was unfairly slow, Barry able to pull back somehow and smile before the ice washed over him, freezing every part of him, sword belt and cloak and all—but not the dagger.

Thudding to the cold ground, the dagger was the only part of Barry spared, because it was magical and had no place killing him anymore or fulfilling whatever sorcery Eobard had planned.

Barry was already dead.

A howl exploded from Len so earth-shattering that he almost expected Barry to crack.

The wail echoed long after he’d stopped releasing it, but afterward, everything else was silence. The soldiers, Len’s subjects, they’d all stopped fighting, staring in wonder and horror at the frozen prince and the monster who would mourn him.

The dagger had been glowing while pierced in Barry’s chest, but now it lay dull and dormant on the ground. Len picked it up, and in his grief, he found rage, spinning about to see a similarly seething Eobard, who’d rushed back to stand beneath the ruins of the castle gates. Whatever he’d been doing, Barry’s sacrifice had stopped it.

Len launched himself forward with a vicious cry, not trying to use his touch, just the dagger, and when the blade struck Eobard’s shield, while it still hit the barrier, it didn’t bounce, causing a glowing crack to form like a bolt of lightning hanging mid-air.

The snarl vanished from Eobard’s face.

Len struck with the dagger again, relentlessly stabbing into the shield as fiercely as he’d tried to pummel Eobard before, and with each blow, the cracks in his magical armor began to multiply.

“Stop!” Eobard tried to scramble backward, but Len kept at him, hitting again—again— _again_.

The shield shattered like translucent glass, and in one fierce movement, Len grabbed Eobard’s shoulder, digging his icy claws into flesh, and stabbed the dagger downward into Eobard’s chest, piercing right through his metal armor like the blade was a white-hot poker. 

Eobard was too stunned to cry out, Len’s touch finally doing to him what it did to everything else. He froze right there with terror in his expression to counter how Barry had let it happen with a smile.

Finally, this time, the dagger too turned to ice, and with the force of Len ripping it free and tearing his claws out of Eobard’s frozen shoulder, Len broke the ice that made up that awful man until he crumbled into pieces.

It should have been satisfying, dropping the frozen dagger onto the chunks of his enemy, but all Len felt was numbness. He stared downward, not wanting to turn and see the statue of Barry outside the gates…

“Majesty,” Oliver’s called, soft but also strangely loud with the battlefield silent.

Len looked up, and Oliver, who’d been on the ramparts with the archers, stood before him, bow in hand. The court had all floated down too, in an arch surrounding Oliver, waiting on Len’s next order.

“What say you?” Oliver asked, an arrow nocked and ready should Len tell him to raise his bow and fire into the soldiers outside.

Now, Len had to turn and see how bad the damage had been to everyone else.

“If even one of our people has been hurt badly…” Mick warned, his grumbling voice making many Emerald soldiers cower now that the energy of battle had dissolved.

But there were no prone bodies, only people limping or holding small wounds with the light pressure of a palm.

The only casualty among the innocent was Barry—smiling still like he was made of crystal instead of ice.

Stepping back out the gates so everyone could see and hear him, Len rose as tall as he could. “Did you follow that man out of loyalty or fear? Because if you feared magic, know that he was the one who used it against you, who used it against your prince, your king, your people. I never asked for the sacrifices you sent me. I took in your rejects and made them welcome in my home.

“You might see monsters, in them and in us, but you were also following one, and your prince chose to sacrifice himself in order to stop Eobard’s plan. I don’t even know what that madman wanted—”

“Immortality!” an unknown voice called.

All heads on the battlefield turned toward it, as a man came forward on horseback, leading all those who’d joined the fray behind Barry. When he stopped in the middle of the converged soldiers, he took his helmet off to reveal an elf.

Those who’d been with Eobard shared further looks of confusion.

“He sought immortality. The Emerald Prince explained everything, and I am happy to explain it to you, majesty, but I say to you all, the Ice King speaks the truth!” he finished by calling to his comrades.

They _were_ his comrades, for though they clearly hadn’t known there were elves amongst them, he wore the Emerald colors.

Others who’d come with Barry shed their helmets as well to proclaim their lineages to their fellows. Barry had gathered his own army. He must have been so relieved, so proud, to have found allies in his own city.

Len was still angry, still deeply grieving, but he knew that the one who deserved blame was already dead. “Throw down your weapons,” Len called to the Emerald soldiers, “promise peace, and no one else needs to die today.”

He wasn’t sure if that would be enough, or if a few would be so terrified and bigoted against them that they’d continue to fight or try to run.

None did, and after the first few dropped their weapons into the snow, others followed, Len’s people sheathing their weapons in kind. He would invite them all in through the gates, but first he had to face the one part of this he wasn’t sure he could stand.

Looking upon Barry, glittering in the sunlight, Len had to say goodbye. His eyes felt hot, but his tears were unable to become anything more than icicles on his cheeks.

Slowly, he walked back toward Barry and spoke aloud, not trying to hide how his voice caught. “I’m so sorry, my love. You asked me to forgive myself and move on, to see in me what you always did, and I will hold true to that promise. I _am_ a good king, and I will be a good king hereafter… for you, for them, and for me.”

As gentle as he could, Len reached his clawed hand to Barry’s cheek, wishing he could feel its warmth one last time against his skin, but all he had to touch him with was ice.

Until he didn’t.

Len gasped at the sudden cold— _cold_ because he was touching ice, but his hand was starting to melt, and beneath was his human hand.

Snatching his hand back, Len gaped, seeing the ice melt away so rapidly that it should have been the middle of summer instead of winter, but the outside heat had never affected him before, and there wasn’t any now, yet…

_Yet._

The relief was instant, the jagged edges and harsh cold of the ice that normally encased him vanishing from his body far more dramatically than he’d ever seen it when night fell. In mere moments, he stood in the snow— _naked_ but human.

“Lenny!” Lisa called, and when he looked back at her, he expected to see the same shock he felt, but what filled him with wonderous joy was that she too was human—and so was everyone in the court.

They all stood there—dressed, since their forms had always turned their clothing to their elements—gazing down at themselves in jubilant disbelief. As they had changed form, just like Len, so too did the sculptures that filled the courtyard garden melt away into nothing to join the dampness of the snow.

Those vile villains, along with Eobard’s pieces, returned to nothing because they deserved nothing, like the thief Len had once shattered—and the first thief who’d taught him about betrayal.

There had been others, though, too many, who’d suffered the effects of an elemental touch without deserving to go up in flames, or fizzle, or turn to gold. Len faced the courtyard leading to the castle and saw the doors as they burst open to let out not the archers or anyone from the ramparts, but familiar faces that had once been thought dead.

Len had never had an ‘accident’ of his own, but each member of the court had at least once. They turned to where he stared and saw, too, the dead brought back to life.

The sight of them made it seem too much to hope…

But then a gasp, like an echo of Len’s before, sounded from behind him, too close to be any of his subjects or the Emerald soldiers. He almost dared not turn around, but he had to know.

Barry was melting, not into nothing like those who’d earned their fate, but having the ice melt from him, leaving him damp but whole again, standing before Len with a relieved sigh and that same sweet smile.

Before Len could move, Barry tackled him, no longer pained, since the knife was long gone, without any trace it had ever been there outside the tear in Barry’s shirt. He threw himself at Len so fully, they almost toppled over, but Len steadied his feet upon the cold ground and held Barry tight.

“You did it,” Barry sobbed into his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure it’d work, if it would be enough, but you did it! You finally believed in _you_.”

The truth of it all clanged in Len’s head like a bell, and he felt for a moment so foolish and yet so blessed because, despite everything, he held his love in his arms.

He squeezed Barry tighter and kissed the side of his neck. “I did, but only because you believed in me first.”

As soon as Barry lifted his head with that glorious, tear-stained smile, Len kissed him. He kissed him as fiercely as he ever had and wished upon every power that existed that this not be an illusion.

Barry’s warmth, his soft lips, his lithe body against Len's, felt better than any time before, standing in the light of the sun.

“Y-you’re naked!” Barry exclaimed when they parted, hurrying to remove his cloak and wrap it around Len's body.

Len clasped it closed but couldn’t bring himself to care that dozens of people from two different kingdoms had just seen a naked _Ice King_ with all his scars.

A triumphant holler came from the courtyard, and he and Barry looked back to see Cisco finally having descended to join the others, Lisa close at his side, as they were surrounded by the happy faces of the people returned to them—including the elf who’d once tried to save Lisa and payed for it. 

At last, their curse was truly and finally—

Light erupted in the center of the battlefield so blindingly, that even though Len and Barry had been turned away, they still had to shield their eyes. Once it began to fade, they looked to where it had originated, everyone gathered in the field having covered their eyes as well, and where the light dimmed stood a figure.

A figure Len recognized immediately.

_Her._

“Now,” the Fairy Queen said, in all her beauty and finery, “ _that_ is the ending I’d been waiting for.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> Well... sort of. ^_^

Barry felt the way Len tensed at the arrival of the Fairy Queen in the center of the battlefield—what _had_ been a battlefield, but that Len had diffused into a peaceful standoff.

None of the Emerald soldiers looked likely to take up arms again, though a good many looked nervous or at least in wonder at the great queen of elves proven as real as the Ice King in their midst.

What exactly had transpired, Barry couldn’t say. He’d known only what he had to do and had kissed Len boldly in goodbye upon his icy lips, but what he’d expected to be as excruciating as the dagger once pierced into his chest had proven to be a peaceful chill that overtook him like falling into a deep sleep.

Then, in what had seemed like moments, he woke again, the cold turned to soothing warmth like that of a summer sun.

The dagger was gone, and the pain with it, which meant, especially with the Fairy Queen’s arrival, that Eobard must be gone too. Barry would mourn him eventually, but for now, all he could feel was joy to have the curse lifted and the battle ended without further bloodshed.

Even if Len was stark nude in the middle of it all beneath Barry’s borrowed cloak.

“You _dare_ show yourself the very moment we earn freedom!” Len roared. He wasn’t in as delighted a mood any longer and pulled Barry behind him as if to shield him from her power.

“Len—”

“I won’t let you touch him or any of my people again!”

The Fairy Queen clucked her tongue, walking toward them with her indigo gown fluttering elegantly as she moved and everyone in her path giving a wide berth. “Such a temper—for a barefoot man in the snow.”

Barry couldn’t help but notice that she was barefoot again too.

“You did this,” Len seethed, but she raised a hand to halt him.

“I did _some_ of this, and for the part I played in a too long and a lasting torture, I beg forgiveness.” She bowed her head and whatever smugness had donned her face fell away.

Len didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“My love,” Barry tried again, moving to stand beside Len and taking hold of his hand, “her curse may have been cruel, but she has not been idle watching, laughing at your struggles. She couldn’t do more than watch because of Eobard. She didn’t close off her lands, hidden in the Mystic Valley to mock you. She was a prisoner just as you were.

“And… well…” He glanced down, marveling at their connected skin in the sunlight, though it was a pale comparison to being able to look up and see Len’s face in the day. “Are you really angry to be here now with subjects and friends who are more like family? Are you angry over the lessons you’ve learned and all you’ve gained?” _Even me_ , he thought, though he already knew the answer. 

Len’s human face, however scarred, his white hair falling in windblown strands across his forehead, was so beautiful to Barry with sweet resignation and fondness upon it.

“I won’t take back what I did or why,” the Fairy Queen drew their attention back to her, “but I swear I would have been kinder had I had the chance.” She took another step closer and extended an arm to Len. “Can you forgive me, Sapphire King?”

Even with so large an audience, all the air seemed to escape Len in one great sigh for how everything had led to this one exchange between monarchs—with Barry having been a third monarch that sparked the ice to melt. “If it hadn’t been for our curse,” Len said, “me and my fellows wouldn’t have all we do.”

He looked at Barry first, tightened his hold on Barry’s hand, and then turned to the queen.

“What say we forgive each other?” he said and reached his free hand to clasp her forearm.

Barry expected a cheer, but all went silent, because Len began to glow.

The light lasted only a moment, but when it faded, the Fairy Queen drew her hand away, and Len stood there, free of all his scars.

He noticed immediately, because his outstretched arm was bare outside the cloak, and normally, he would have been covered in the tiny marred marks from icy cuts. Barry, too, could feel the smoothness of Len’s hand in his.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Len said, turning his hand in the sunlight. “I—”

“ _You_ don’t have to play martyr,” the Fairy Queen said. “We all carry enough scars. Accept the gift. And try not to flirt with my husband this time.”

Barry laughed despite himself, and as he turned to look where the queen inclined her head, he could see them. A caravan approached from the Mystic Valley, and at its head was her handsome human Prince Consort.

“I’ll try my best,” Len joked, and then cleared his throat as if to shake away whatever sentiment was cloying there too tightly.

Still, he didn’t let Barry go but turned about to address those around them, as well as those approaching up the hill.

“Come! All are welcome here. Let us get inside to be warm and clean and freshly fed. I am sure we all have much to tell each other.”

Barry was glad to see that the Emerald soldiers didn’t hesitate, perhaps too weary or too stunned by all they’d seen to imagine slinking away. It was an easy task to move for the Frozen—the _Sapphire_ castle.

As they went in through the gates, however, and Barry saw how spacious Len’s garden looked now with no ice sculptures to adorn it, he somehow knew exactly when they passed over where Eobard had stood, melted now into the ground.

“What of Eobard?” he asked in a whisper, turning to the Fairy Queen walking in step beside him and Len. “He seemed a twisted and cruel man, but all he wanted was what you have.”

“Do you blame me for his corruption?” she asked.

“No, I… I just wonder if all this could have been avoided if he’d gotten what he wanted when he first asked.”

“Or perhaps it would have been so much worse.”

Barry supposed she was right and didn’t argue.

They continued across the grounds, the others giving him, Len, and the queen space to talk, though he could see Cisco and the court members ahead, eager to embrace them once they had the chance.

“All I did was tell him ‘no’ and look where it brought him.” She gestured to the same cold ground beneath their feet. “If people can take immortality with them, it changes them. Surely, the people here changed, but they could have left their immortality behind and travelled beyond these lands. Choice is key, Barry. People choose whether they want to be better or worse versions of themselves every day.”

“With the curse gone,” Len said as though a sudden weight sunk within him, “this place will no longer keep everyone alive.”

“I could change that, if you wish,” she said. “Or, if you’d prefer this place stay untouched by such magic, yet some of your subjects aren’t ready to give it up, they are welcome in the Mystic Valley, same as before.”

Barry saw how the unknown future ahead did indeed weigh on Len, so he pulled in closer to his love’s side, feeling the firm lines of him through the cloak and how he shivered in the snow.

“I’ll have to think on it and pose it to my people,” Len said. “I’ve lived a long life, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it to be shortened.” He leaned against Barry in reply, smiling at him before turning once more to the Fairy Queen. “Many of my subjects from the start of my reign are in your valley, aren’t they?”

“Some. Some moved on to live simpler lives before our lands were locked. Those who stayed might even want to return.”

The court had slowed their gait as they neared the doors into the castle. Barry knew they had done so to listen in, because Hartley would no longer have his ability to spy anywhere he pleased. Since they had overheard, however, Mark turned and rushed back toward them at those words.

“Do you know if…” He trailed off, his face pinched with uncertainty, yet still, he tried. “I… had a daughter.”

Barry’s breath caught at the reminder. The sheer multitude of loss within these walls could shake the lands around them. Others must also be wondering what had become of their kin.

“Children age in the Mystic Valley until they’re grown,” the queen explained. “Her mother is gone, not one to live forever, but the girl chose to stay. Quite lovely now, isn’t she?”

Barry watched Mark turn to look at the arriving caravan pouring into the courtyard with everyone else, one young woman clearly catching his attention, though she must look so different from when he’d last seen her.

She was beautiful. A half-elf with dark hair and large, almond eyes.

When Barry looked back at Mark, Shawna had joined him, and she held his hand as he stared in seeming awe until his eyes met those of his daughter. She must have recognized him, her expression placid at first, tense, but when she— _Jocelyn_ —smiled in hopeful encouragement, Mark and Shawna went over to see her.

“Barry?”

Barry turned back, realizing he’d been left at the bottom of the steps, and hurried inside the castle after Len, who was picking at the edges of the cloak. “Oh! Of course. You need to change. I’ll run to my room as well and meet you in the hall?”

Len nodded and drew Barry in close to kiss him. The Fairy Queen— _Iris_ , he had to remind himself—was gazing at him fondly when Len headed away.

Everything was as it should be, Barry’s friends all around, embracing and talking happily, still waiting to pounce and embrace him too once he ventured from Iris. They tried to pounce on Len, but while he accepted a few half-hugs on his way to the staircase up to his chambers, he begged to be allowed to get clothes on first.

Barry smiled, but one question still plagued him before he could leave Iris’s side. “Lands can be cursed with immortality. Could you give that to a person, but you simply refused Eobard?”

“I could,” she said, taking him by the elbow and leading him away from the entrance that would soon be filling with others, “but nothing comes without a price.”

“But _you_ are immortal no matter where you tread.”

“Yes.” She smiled cryptically. 

“Other elves only live forever if they’re on your lands. What makes you different? Just your type of magic?”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Barry.” She leaned in especially close to whisper, “I'm not an elf.”

Barry jerked back, as amazed as he’d been when he saw his first magic cast. “You _are_ a fairy.”

“No.” Iris laughed. “There are other things in this world... and outside of it. Does it matter what I am if this is who I want you to see?”

Her overall lesson seemed clear, but as it also became clear that she had no intention of divulging what she really was, Barry couldn’t help a wave of curiosity.

Maybe someday he’d learn the truth, but regardless, with the promise of all he had ahead of him, he bowed his head and answered plainly.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone is, only who they choose to be.”

XXXXX

Len took longer than he should have getting ready, dirty from being outside naked in the snow and wanting the warmth of a hot bath before he changed. It was surreal, knowing the sun shone outside.

For once, he wished his private chambers had windows.

Part of him kept waiting to wake up from a long dream, and it would be that morning all over again, only Barry wouldn’t heroically come to his rescue and change everything with a kiss.

But Len never startled awake. Barry had changed everything and ended the curse with the simple press of sweet lips and a love he’d chosen to embrace against all odds.

Len dressed in the blue and silver doublet Barry had made for him, donning his crown, and heading through the secret tunnels at last, where he could hear much merriment the closer he drew to the great hall. He was last to arrive at the head table. Additional chairs had been added to accommodate every court member and their consort, including a seat beside Len’s for his prince.

“You found it,” Len said, taking in what Barry wore. He’d almost forgotten he left the green and gold doublet on Barry’s bed.

Barry flew into his arms as whole-heartedly as he had when they were first reunited.

Then everyone else did too.

“Oh Lenny!” Lisa was on him first after Barry pulled away, radiant as ever in a golden gown.

Cisco, more reserved toward his king, clasped Len’s forearm. He was dressed rather princely himself, in clothing that bore more of Lisa’s previously spun gold thread.

Mark and Hartley knew Len too well to be discreet, clobbering him from either side. Hartley looked like a true regent again, prim and stately, and Mark wore robes of opulent purple.

Shawna was there then to bow and kiss Len’s cheek, in matching purple to Mark’s, though she remained in trousers instead of a skirt. Axel didn’t bother with a bow or curtsy, wearing even more varied colors for his mismatched clothing than usual, but he kissed Len’s cheek all the same, to which Len couldn’t help but laugh.

He expected Mick to do no more than pat his shoulder, but his master of arms drew him in for a crushing hug, pulling Caitlin along with him to crush Len further. They were dressed grandly too, taking this as the celebration it was, with Caitlin’s brunette hair done up in pinned curled.

Though, for a moment, her hair turned white as snow, as she kissed Len’s cheek with a chill on her breath. “It seems the only one made of ice here now, majesty, is me.”

She was hardly ice, but the sentiment was appreciated.

Barry returned to Len’s side after he’d been thoroughly accosted by everyone else and seemed reluctant to let Len take his chair once they reached the center of the table. Len grasped Barry’s hand then, took his throne, and tugged Barry onto his lap. It was a far more suitable place for him, after all.

“Len!” Barry said with a blush, but Len kissed him—his cheek, the side of his mouth, his lips directly, and willed his embarrassment away.

“My prince may do as he pleases, but his king would like him to stay right here.”

A smile from Barry still lit up the hall like no candlelight ever could.

The others took their seats. There was an _extra_ -extra chair beside Mark.

For his daughter.

The lovely half-elf looked overwhelmed to have been invited to join them, but then, Mark looked overwhelmed too and happy for it.

Len realized suddenly who he’d expected to be at the table but wasn’t.

“What of the Fairy—” he began, but as soon as he looked out at the hall, he saw her.

Moving through their great gathered masses, she floated like her namesake of a fairy, creating extra tables and chairs with mere waves of her hands, until the room was near bursting with people from all three kingdoms, yet there was room enough for everyone.

Her consort sat amongst the people, not at all put out that there wasn’t room at the head table. There was feasting and drinking as grandly as if it were evening, though it was barely midday.

Barry wriggled to get out of Len’s hold as food was served, but Len clung to him stubbornly.

“Len!” Barry protested again with a giggle. “This is very sweet, but I can’t eat here, and I’m starved. I’ll have you know that dying is very hunger-inducing.”

That shouldn’t have been funny, but Len laughed—and let Barry go. “Fair enough.”

It still warmed him—oh how it warmed him and his melted heart—simply with the way Barry cast him a loving gaze. 

Cisco was seated next to Barry, with Lisa on Cisco’s other side. As they were settled now, Cisco reached over to pat Barry’s shoulder.

And immediately let out a gasp.

Anxiety cloyed at Len’s chest where his thawed heart was far too tender to take bad news.

“Anything I should know about?” Barry asked lightly, the twitch of his smile betraying that he was wary too.

“Yes,” Cisco said, smiling without guile. “You’re going to be a great king. Your father awaits you back home for coronation.”

Barry’s face lit up even more brightly, learning truly that his father was well despite Eobard’s scheming, but then his expression dropped. “I’ll have to leave then… won’t I?”

“True,” Lisa interjected with a grin, “but kingdoms join forces through _marriage_ all the time. A few days travel isn’t too far between homes.”

“I think that means we have ourselves an engagement celebration!” the Fairy Queen declared. She’d finished making room for everyone in the hall and approached Len and his court as though gliding on air. “Perhaps for more than one wedding.” She cast her conniving gaze down the full length of the head table, until she caught the eye of a madly grinning Axel. “Bard! Let me teach you something new for the occasion.”

After striding closer to where he sat, she leaned over the table and tapped him on the nose, causing his eyes to light up as if he’d been given a great gift.

He jumped to his feet and leapt right up onto the table. “Shall we hear of immortal love between two unlikely souls?” he cried, which hushed the room abruptly.

Then someone cheered, and an echo of encouragement followed from the Sapphire subjects who knew his talents well. Hartley, beside him, looked equally exasperated and admiring.

Like many evenings past, Axel began a steady beat upon the tabletop, and others stomped or pounded their tables in kind to lead him into his verse.

_“Our tale begins, alas, with strength, which many seek to gain,  
but sometimes power births its spawn before its split in twain._

_A creature born of magic wild may seem corrupt et al  
but aren’t we all wild magic born when set upon our call?_

_Our hero, almost villain told, fell madly into love.  
Not once did this wild creature think of happiness thereof._

_Tragedy did follow thus  
Love’s road is tough for all  
But a hero knows no right or left  
only forward toward their fall_

_Into love  
Into tragedy  
but all we ever need._

_The hero called defeat and vowed to make a great amends  
Assuming love would never rise to mend their heart again._

_Yet oh, the fates have other plans for those who beat the odds,  
and love will find its way again when power finds a cause. _

_This power might have culled the lands but chose to be a balm,  
and in their worthy sacrifice, they found a brighter song._

_In their love  
In their destiny  
who finally came to be. _

_So heed this tale  
for where you fall  
may not be all they sing.” _

Axel ended with the usual flourish, wide spread of his arms and a deep bow, sending the room into uproarious applause. Once he jumped back down from the table, he blinked like he’d been in a sort of trance but smiled and took his seat once more to a sweet kiss on the cheek from his love.

“Was that _your_ story?” Barry asked the Fairy Queen, who’d remained standing in front of their table. Barry had seemed enamored but also clearly affected by the depressing nature of the tale that eventually led to a happy end for a creature not quite human—or elf or otherwise.

“Perhaps,” she said, “but the best fairytales are not told merely once.” She bowed, and then turned to descend back to the people, taking a seat beside her prince.

She was certainly enigmatic, but what mattered to Len was his own happy end seated beside him.

They feasted and enjoyed themselves, seeing so much warmth and comradery between everyone. The harpsichord was still against the wall, and before long, music filled the hall as well. When the food was gone and only wine and ale poured, the tables were pushed aside to make room for dancing. Eventually, even the members of the court went down to dance with the others.

Len hesitated, not because he would ever deny himself the opportunity to hold Barry close, but because he wanted to look upon his people, mingled with others he never thought he’d see here.

When Barry pulled him out from behind the head table, he went with him but sat them down at the edge of the elevated stage to survey the merrymaking.

Mick, who’d once been thought too brutish to be a kingdom’s master of arms, was delicately twirling Caitlin, a woman who’d been preceded by the title of ‘widow’ for so long, Len never would have thought he’d see her smile with the rosy glow of new beginnings in her cheeks.

Shawna was dancing with Mark’s daughter, though they snatched him by the wrists to force him to join them. He had a chance to make up for what he’d once neglected, and Shawna, a starving thief, would never go hungry from lack of food or love again. 

Hartley was as drunk as Len had ever seen, starting to untie Axel’s shirt right there on the dancefloor, when once he’d been exiled by his parents simply for wanting the company of another man, and Axel didn’t need to use his tricks or bardic tales against others, only to make them smile.

Len’s own sister, Lisa, who’d followed him in his selfish ways, now cared far more for her people and the man on her arm than she ever had of fine dresses and jewels. Cisco would make a fine addition to their family, the seer who’d lost his own only to find another in his banishment. The pair was taking a break from dancing to talk with some of the Emerald soldiers.

Oliver had his wife in his lap, both warmed by ale and telling some story or another to elves from the Mystic Valley. The fletcher hadn’t been the same spoiled rich boy who first darkened Len’s doorstep in decades, but Len could see the added ease in his expression at the thought of being able to visit his home city of Emerald again someday.

Sara and Nyssa, fine fighters for Len’s kingdom and lovers in their own right, had grabbed the soldier who aided Barry on his travels. He seemed to need much encouragement to relax, even as an elf no longer having to hide his ears.

It was a raucous as any party Len and his court had thrown when they were squandering the kingdom’s wealth for their own pleasures, only this was how it should have been, _for_ the people and earned.

Len even spared a kind eye for Ralph, dancing with their musical inventor, who he’d snatched up as soon as Wynn took a break and let someone else play the harpsichord for a while.

The Fairy Queen and her prince were dancing too, as if they were the only ones out there—though when the prince caught Len’s eye, he couldn’t help winking, and the handsome blond laughed and lost his footing.

To think, once Len would have chased after a man like him, after any man who caught his eye without care or consequence, yet now, he couldn’t bear the thought of being with anyone but the man beside him.

When Len finally turned from the crowd, Barry was gazing back at him. His sweet, vibrant prince reached a hand toward him to wipe away a tear that Len hadn’t even realized had formed. It was a happy tear, because this was what his kingdom should have been from the beginning, but it had taken a long time for him to understand what being a good king meant.

“You are so beautiful,” Barry said, cupping Len’s cheek when his hand dropped, “but I never minded the scars, you know.”

“I know. It was a thoughtful gift.” Len nodded at the Fairy Queen. “Since she caused more scars than she intended. But my hair’s still white,” he realized with a start, a lock having fallen into his eyes after Barry’s touch. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Perhaps that is a gift for me.” Barry pulled his hand from Len’s cheek to coil a finger through that fallen strand. “It was the first thing I ever saw of you, just a glimpse over my shoulder when we were in the bath. Now, I could look on you forever.”

Len felt the weight of Barry’s eyes on him that much more, because, before today, he’d only seen Len’s face by candlelight, and he wasn’t being shy with how he mapped every curve of flesh with his gaze. “That… is an option,” Len said.

“Well, Iris did call this an engagement party.”

“She did. And you, Barry, would you be my king and I yours to unite our kingdoms? Do you think they could handle that?” Len added before Barry could answer, because it wasn’t only the revelers here they had to worry about.

Barry shifted to look at the others, leaning close against Len’s side. “If you’d asked me that before I spent those few days at home, I’d have said no, I don’t think they’re ready. But when I spoke the truth to my people and begged their aid against Eobard, they answered my call. Not all of them, granted. There will be dissenters, but we have to start somewhere.”

With a gentle touch at Barry’s cheek, Len drew his attention back to him. “Then I’ll ask again: Would you be my king and I yours?”

Barry’s smile brightened. “Yes.” 

“And would you want forever, truly, as the Fairy Queen could offer it?”

“I… I think so, knowing that should we ever grow weary of this world, we could simply wander to new lands and begin a different adventure. What say you then?”

“Yes,” Len answered, “I’d like nothing better.”

He kissed Barry, and the music and loud chatter dimmed like a distant background swell.

They kissed so long and deeper by the moment, that when they finally parted, Barry was panting.

“Would you… care to dance, my king?”

“Yes, but elsewhere.”

Len didn’t give Barry time to ask what he meant. He took Barry’s hand and stood, and instead of dropping down to the main floor to join the others, he pulled him into the tunnels. 

XXXXX

Barry marveled at the throne room when they reached it. Len had melted, the court members all flesh and blood too, but he hadn’t thought the places once touched by the Ice King would melt as well.

The room was cool, for it was still stone and vast, but it was a soothing cool instead of chilling.

And the throne was gone!

“Where is it?” Barry asked, racing onto the platform where it once stood.

“Melted, I suppose.” Len followed.

“You mean, it was never real? Not your actual throne?”

“Merely a construct made of ice that felt more fitting than the throne I’d spurned.” Moving to stand directly in the center of the dais, Len took a breath and surveyed the room as if he hadn’t truly taken it in when he came up here to change. “The throne in the hall once stood here, and the one in my private rooms was there. I moved them so that my true throne would always be a reminder for me at night of what I’d lost.

“Perhaps I’ll move it here and leave the one in the hall as is. I like the ballroom as a dining hall for everyone instead of a throne room. Though if you’re going to be king with me,” Len held out a hand, and Barry grasped it, “I’ll need one for you as well.”

Barry moved into Len’s body and lifted their joined hands to hold against his heart. “I think we can both fit. Shall we test it out?”

“I thought you wanted to dance,” Len teased.

“True.” Barry dragged Len down the steps, encircled Len’s waist with his arms, feeling Len’s encircle him in kind, and led them into a slow sway. “In the place we first met.”

Len chuckled softly and pressed his cheek to Barry’s. “Indeed. But we haven’t any music.”

“Mm… well then.” Barry cleared his throat.

_“And the thief cried on,  
swallowed up by greed,  
but the hungry maw  
had enough._

_So beware the vice that will feed the story’s end,  
for the next year comes again too soon…”_

Len pulled Barry in front of him and sang the end, _“And the Ice King sings the final tune.”_

Barry laughed. “I suppose we’ll need to change the words, since only that last line is true.”

“I’m sure you and Axel are up to the task. Now come,” Len backed them toward his chamber doors, “let’s see if we can fit on that throne.”

Barry didn’t think he was being serious— _Barry_ hadn’t been serious when he suggested it—but once they entered the rooms, Len led them straight to his desk and to the ornate throne behind it.

Which afforded Barry a clear view into the bedroom.

“You still don’t have a bed!” he exclaimed.

“Admittedly… I’ve been sleeping on yours. We’ll have to end there all the same tonight, but first…” Len sat Barry down, which confused him initially, until Len squeezed in between the desk and Barry’s legs and dropped to his knees in front of him. “We can worry about fitting in that chair in a moment.”

Seeing Len in the dark of his bedroom their last night together couldn’t compare with seeing him now, in a room fully lit, as his beautiful hands untied Barry’s trousers and pulled him out right there on Len’s throne. There was reverence in the act but also want, deep and fully focused on Barry with Len’s eyes on him. 

_Blue eyes in a sea of white._

The white was more a frame around his handsomely tanned face. The truth of Cisco’s vision had been what Barry chose for himself, those blue eyes being all that mattered when he chose to drown in a sea of white and be consumed by ice to save his love.

A love whose soft lips parted now, drawing Barry in between them, a king on his knees for him, licking and sucking on Barry’s length and spurring him to hardness.

Barry’s instinct was to flutter his eyes closed at the wonderful warmth, but he didn’t want to look away now that he could truly, fully see Len.

He watched his handsome king swallow him down until his nose touched the base of Barry’s curls. Barry reached with his own reverence to run his fingers through Len’s hair. A crown of white gold and sapphires sat upon his head, glittering from the many lamps in the room. 

“Perhaps it should sit upon your head, my prince,” Len husked with warm breath on Barry’s tip, and then licked slowly up his length to make him shiver.

Barry felt like _he_ could melt. Neither of them had enjoyed more than a few sips of wine, the flush inside him building from something far better.

He plucked the crown from Len’s head and set it upon his own, heavier than the gold diadem he sometimes wore at home. This freed him to dig his fingers that much deeper into Len’s hair, soft as silk and white as the winter snow, encouraging him in his careful work bobbing up and down Barry cock.

It had been too long, Barry wound as tight as an artisan’s clock about to burst its gears. He’d been nothing but a bundle of anxiety, and now, finally, here was salvation.

But he didn’t want to be saved too soon.

“Len,” he panted, feeling Len’s warm hands at his hips, holding him steady as he sucked.

Len seemed to understand and pulled away, but continued to lightly lick at Barry between words, while also undoing the ties of his doublet and sliding his hands up beneath his undershirt as if desperate to touch him. “I am going to worship you as you deserve, my little prince. You kept your word.” Len kissed his belly, Barry’s doublet falling open and his shirt drawn up by slow, precise hands. “You saved me… came back to me… even sewed and sang for me.” He rumbled a laugh before licking up between Barry’s pecks, and then leaned in to kiss him.

He soon dropped back to his knees, returning to Barry’s trousers to pull them down his legs. Barry lifted his hips to let him, watching his boots get removed, then the trousers, expecting so many things to follow, though not Len’s sudden return to swallow Barry down—once, twice—and then he slowed to gentle sucking, as he brought his fingers to Barry’s lips and pleaded for entrance.

Barry opened his mouth and sucked in Len’s fingers, rolling them across his tongue. He coated them wetly, enjoying the feel of them in his mouth, while simultaneously being sucked on himself with slower and slower bobs.

“ _Len_ ,” Barry whined when the fingers fell from his lips with a plaintive drop of his head against the throne.

“As you wish,” Len said and tilted Barry’s hips so that his feet left the floor, finding purchase on the edge of the throne and presenting him boldly before Len, where he brought those wet fingers down.

Barry trembled at the first tease of a fingertip circling him, slick only from his own mouth but enough to ease its way inside. The hums and moans that left him as Len sought to stretch him open were impossible to stifle.

“Oh, I’ve missed those sounds filling this room.” Len pressed a kiss to Barry’s thighs, licked around the heavy drop of his balls above his entrance, and when Barry tightened at a deeper thrust of his finger, he added a lick and sweet suck at Barry’s tip.

Barry tightened again, and then relaxed and opened further at the prospect of what came next.

“Does my little prince want more?” Len flicked the tip of his tongue at Barry’s head, twisting a second finger inside and spreading them apart in tandem.

Barry quaked. “ _Please_ …”

At last, Len pulled away and stood, leaving Barry shaking with his feet propped. The ties of Len’s trousers were deftly undone, his boots kicked away, the garment dropping and being kicked away as well, but while he also untied his doublet, he merely let it fall open, his thick and heavy cock bobbing just beneath the line of his shirt and dripping tantalizingly at the tip.

He stroked it, smoothing the wetness up his length, and jutted his hips toward Barry in offering. Barry whined at righting himself on the throne, feet dropping down so he could suck his king’s cock as deftly as he’d sucked his fingers.

This view was a miracle compared to the taste with only darkness as his guide. He could swallow Len down and look up his smooth, firm chest at those beautiful eyes looking down at him. Len’s lips had the most mesmerizing curve as a tiny, smug smile, shimmering with wetness.

Barry sucked and sucked and opened his throat to bury his nose as deeply as Len had with him, loving the fullness it gave him and the promise of being further filled and full in due time.

After sucking furtively, Barry spoke between gentle, teasing licks. “And how… would my king… like to have me?”

“Why… together on the throne, of course.” Len halted him and left the close quarters of being behind the desk. “I’ll be but a moment. Stand, remove your doublet and shirt, but keep the crown.”

A tremor pulsed through Barry at the order. His footing wavered when he stood, but by the time Len returned, he’d complied. Len’s shirt and doublet were gone now too, and he held one of the bottles of bath oils.

Barry made room for him to sit this time and accepted the oil when Len handed it to him. Like this, Barry could see all of Len, naked and full before him, and had the pleasure of coating his love while touching him anywhere he wanted.

Barry didn’t waste a moment, pouring the oil on Len’s tip to dribble down his cock and coating it with a firm, swift hand, while exploring with the other. The feel of Len’s skin was different without the scars. Barry had mapped the feel of him in his mind, and now the terrain was new, but no less beautiful, no less desirable, and all his.

He wanted Len to know how stunning he found him and took his time tracing over every muscle, curve, and divot, stroking Len all the while, until he could handle it no longer and had to have Len inside him.

There were no arms to the throne, so climbing atop Len to join him was a simple act. Barry spread his legs to straddle his king and used one hand on Len’s cock to guide him in where he’d already been slicked and open.

The scent of a forest clearing with a field of flowers, the feel of Len tight and devoured within Barry, the connection of their thighs and Barry’s hand pressing to Len’s chest over his heart to a steady, warm beat, all paled compared to experiencing this with their eyes locked.

“You see, my king,” Barry said, sheathing himself completely and basking in the fullness of being with his love, “we fit.”

XXXXX

The old mantra tried to chorus in Len’s head.

_You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him._

But damn those thoughts, because Len _did_ , and he would do everything in his power to continue proving it.

He thrust up into the heat of Barry, not feeling any of the shame or self-hatred he always thought he would to have someone’s eyes on him, and he knew that, even if his scars remained, he’d feel the same. He wanted Barry’s focus, his adoration, his lithely moving body rocking atop him on their throne.

Barry kept touching him, a hand over his heart, on his cheek, in his hair. He was no amateur any longer, racing for a quick end, but moved slowly, muscles tightening in tempo, his thighs wide and clamped around Len’s hips. He used the hold he had on Len’s hair to tilt his head and kiss his neck with an open mouth, licking and biting lightly enough to fill Len with tremors.

Holding Barry around his waist as they rocked in synch, Len enjoyed the minutes ticking by with neither of them hurrying toward anything.

That slow rhythm couldn’t last, however, and when Barry drew close, his pace increased, and he leaned back enough to grasp one of Len’s hands at is waist and bring it between his legs.

Len gripped Barry hard, pumping through the wetness already leaking down his shaft, and with each increased breath and added whine released to the air, Barry hastened and clenched and finally cried out a beautiful litany of praises.

He kept on, “My king… your cock belongs within me. _Take me_ … harder… spill your seed inside me!” and when Len still had yet to follow, Barry lifted Len’s soiled hand to his lips and licked his own release from Len’s fingers.

Len came almost instantly, feeling and seeing the filthy slide of that silver tongue.

Barbed at times too, Barry’s tongue had charmed him as much as had scolded him. If Len’s cock belonged within Barry, then Barry’s tongue belonged within Len, and he kissed him roughly to prove it. He kissed the taste of Barry right off his lips and wrapped Barry in his arms against him. 

No stable boy had ever made Len’s heart flutter with the same intensity as the pleasure Barry brought him. This young prince would be Len’s king, the one who’d saved him, who’d believed he could save himself, and who’d never lost hope no matter how many times Len pushed him away.

“I love you,” Len said, whispering against damp lips.

“I love you too,” Barry echoed, still panting, as he sank heavily against Len. “And loving you, Len, is more than enough.”

The words were almost chiding, as if to say, _‘I told you I’d be right,’_ but Len didn’t mind. It _was_ enough, and he was glad to have been proven wrong.

He might not have a bed, but he did have his bath, and once they’d grown tired of their sticky embrace with lazy kisses having passed between them, he coaxed Barry to get up so they could clean themselves and soak.

“Are we going to while away the rest of the day here?” Barry asked once they’d settled in the bath.

“For a bit.” Len no longer needed to keep Barry faced away from him, but he still held him against his chest, arms wrapped around him from behind. “Then we can rejoin the others in their merriment.”

“And if they ask where we got off to?”

“We’ll tell the truth,” Len said, grinning when Barry turned to him with a wry expression. He kissed his prince firmly. “We were consummating our engagement.”

XXXXX

Barry knew the road ahead would not be without its challenges. Finally returning home afforded him many a dark, wary, or disgusted look from his people, some even daring to spit at the feet of his horse. But those were the minority, for most cheered to see their prince alive with no disaster following in his wake.

He did, however, have a king riding beside him, whose white hair despite a young face made whispers spread quickly. Once they reached the palace, it was clear that everyone knew their prince had returned with the Ice King.

_Let them stare and whisper and wonder_ , Barry thought. All he cared about was seeing his father.

He leapt from his horse and rushed to meet him, embracing his father tightly on the palace steps. Master Wells was there as well amid the court physicians, for Henry did appear weak, however revitalized.

“It will take some days yet for the poison to fully leave me, but I am well, my beautiful boy, all because you are a sweet, stubborn prince who refused to admit defeat.”

Barry laughed, because he couldn’t deny that he’d made it this far largely due to stubbornness. “Father, this is King Leonard of the Sapphire Kingdom,” Barry introduced when Len dismounted and came to join them. Henry bowed, as did Len, but Barry did not mean for this meeting to be so formal. “He is also my love, Len.”

Henry nodded, saying nothing against the declaration. “I am guessing you both have much to tell me. Come. Let’s leave prying eyes and ears to themselves.”

Not once did Henry rebuke Barry when he explained all that had transpired and what he wanted for the future. It was only the three of them in Henry’s private rooms, with Len having been welcomed in like any neighboring king should be—or his son’s betrothed.

“This is your kingdom, Barry,” Henry said, “and I know your mother would be proud of what you wish to do with it. I only wish I had been brave enough to do more myself, but know how proud I am too that you will be a far better king than I ever was.”

It was all Barry had ever hoped to hear, and he grasped Len’s hand between them, as they sat before his father united. “That warms me greatly, but I was hoping you’d be King-Regent, Father, when I spend time in the Sapphire Kingdom, as Len’s sister will be Queen-Regent when we are here.”

Henry looked startled but answered with a smile. “If you so wish it.”

“Should the time come when you no longer want that title, we will let the people decide who will be regent and who might one day succeed us. It is all going to be very different, and some might speak against us, fight or rally, even simply leave. I’m no longer going to fear that. This _is_ my kingdom—ours,” Barry squeezed Len’s hand, “and we’re going to make it a better one.”

The surrealness of having Len, human and vibrant, in Emerald with him was almost like a dream. Seeing him speaking with Henry and getting along easily. Showing him around the city to many stares but eventual excitement. Elves and half-elves were no longer hiding themselves, and many, after a time, came up to Len to ask the truth of his story and his castle.

Those that heard it looked relieved to know that no one undeserving had died since the first sacrifice was sent to Len’s door. It was a start, despite the less hospitable glares and whispers that followed them, and nothing would change that their kingdoms were going to be joined with the marriage of King and King.

Once, not long ago, Barry never thought he’d look forward to his royal wedding. Now, it filled him with the most incredible joy, penning invitations to send throughout Emerald, in Sapphire, the Mystic Valley, and other lands far beyond, for all were welcome if they chose to celebrate the joining of the two Gemstone Kingdoms.

They’d rebuild the Sapphire city and surrounding villages, begin trading with the Mystic Valley, and create something new without fear of the unknown. Some might plot against them, but they’d be ready and watch more and more hearts melt with the changing of the laws.

They didn’t stay in Emerald long, however, for Barry wanted their wedding in the castle where they met.

“Shall we go, my little prince?” Len asked the morning they planned to depart. Henry and many others would traverse to Sapphire for the wedding, but for now, it was a small party setting out.

David had insisted on always being Barry’s personal escort, though this time his Robert would be joining. David would return to Emerald after the wedding, for he’d been nominated to be head of the guards in Eobard’s stead for his honors of war—or rather assistance in avoiding one—and Rob would finally open his artisan shop.

Wells was joining the caravan as well, partly to meet Master Mark and trade alchemy secrets, but also to see Cisco and apologize to him in person.

Perhaps Cisco’s family would venture to Sapphire someday too, when it was _his_ wedding day, which would follow soon after Len and Barry’s. Barry hoped they would, though he knew that Cisco was plenty fulfilled with the family he’d found if his own couldn’t accept the changing tides.

“I suppose I should start calling you my little _king_ ,” Len continued when Barry approached him and their readied horses. 

“You know what I realize standing close to you?” Barry pursed his lips. “ _I’m_ taller. Not by much, but that name only worked when you towered over me. I’m hardly a ‘little’ anything compared to you now.”

Len leaned in close to whisper at Barry’s ear, “Little king it is.”

Barry would have laughed if Len didn’t steal the sound with a kiss—right there in the streets of Emerald. It was freeing to no longer be afraid of that.

They were about to mount their horses when something caught Barry’s eye.

The carriages from the Shadow Lands were in the square. They’d already been unloaded, and the merchants were finishing reloading trade goods for the trip back.

“One moment,” Barry said to Len and hurried over to one of the carriages before it could depart. He wasn’t afraid of the black horses or lack of visible drivers. He’d learned well that nothing was as it seemed. He simply needed to know the truth.

So, he placed one of the wedding invitations with the goods being sent off and penned a quick note in addition, asking if the young man he’d sent there had arrived safely and been welcomed. Perhaps, someday, they could finally learn the truth of their other neighbors as well.

“I’m ready now.” Barry rejoined Len and their convoy with a pleased smile. “For whatever happens next.”

XXXXX

_SEVERAL MONTHS EARLIER_

He couldn’t run anymore. He’d run so far, for so long. It had been days. The prince had given him food and water to take with him in a rucksack, but the supplies were running low, and he had no idea how much farther it was to the Shadow Lands.

Anything is better than being sacrificed to the Ice King, he told himself, as he stored away what little provisions remained before beginning a new day of traveling. 

The prince had saved him, the Emerald Prince himself. He had to survive. He had to reach the Shadow Lands and make something of the gift he’d been given to have a life elsewhere.

He’d never done anything bad his whole life—other than show that he had magic, accidentally one day, in the street. Not even powerful magic, just illusions. That’s all it had taken to condemn him.

He knew little of where he was going. No one really knew what the Shadow Lands held. Their carriages would arrive without drivers, deliver goods for trade, and take back what Emerald gave them. The stories said that was the way of things for centuries, stretching back longer than tales of the Ice King. It was whispered to be a place of such powerful magic, no one dared question the carriages, stop trading with them, or ever send anyone into the woods to find the Dark Kingdom.

They called the lands that—Dark and Shadow—because the few people who'd ever ventured close enough spoke of how the woods turned to night even if it should have been morning.

That was how he knew he was finally getting close, because the sun had only just risen, and he’d walked for less than an hour, when darkness swallowed him like he’d entered a cave.

Terrifying as it was, and despite all the stories of dark magic and people being driven mad by this place, he had to press on, for he had nowhere else to go, no family back home who would miss him. Perhaps the Dark Kingdom welcomed magic and all would be better for him here.

In fact, as he continued, the wood opened up to a clear path, though it was still night all around him—night, not merely dark, for he could see stars and a full moon above him. The trees no longer had leaves, gnarled and reaching for the sky. It was winter, but even the firs looked dead, and yet they were also somehow beautiful, sparkling as though covered in metallic shimmer. And as he craned his ears, he’d swear he could hear voices, happy, normal voices like townsfolk in a market.

Yes! There were lights at the end of the path!

He pushed onward, beginning to run. He was saved. All would be well. He was almost—

“You are perfect.”

He stopped, hearing a strange voice coming from somewhere he couldn’t see, yet as if all around him. “Who—”

Then everything stopped, the lights gone, the murmur of townsfolk stilled, and all curiosity wiped away because a wicked fast slice had severed his head from his body.

“At last,” the voice continued, though he was no longer alive to hear it. “You are perfect. And not to worry. When you wake, you will be a brand-new man.”

But that is another story…

THE END (for now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a little break to finish some other projects, but then I plan to return to tell the story of the Shadow Lands that was happening at the same time as Ice King. 
> 
> Interested?
> 
> I'm planning a trilogy, this next one being book two. It will all one day be changed to original characters for publication, but what's funny, is my idea for the next one... is still a Barry and Len AU, just very different versions of them. Which will work perfectly in an original story, but might be weird for ColdFlash readers. 
> 
> I'm still thinking I'll do it as ColdFlash, as a separate fic, because it could totally be a stand-alone, but if you read the whole trilogy, the connections will be obvious. 
> 
> If you ever read my Whumptober project on Tumblr, Stitches is what's coming next, a sort of Nightmare Before Christmas AU. 
> 
> Stay tuned and know how much every kudos and comment means to me. ^_^ 
> 
> See ya next ficcie!


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